A Change In Plans
by Peta2
Summary: When Rick decides to tell Merle their plan to surrender Michonne to save the prison, Carol overhears and isn't happy. This is a Caryl fic that starts out Marol.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I just want to say, Marol has been a shocking development for me. I'm Caryl through and through, but this pairing seems to be a guilty pleasure I never expected. Needless to say, last night absolutely devastated me and as a coping mechanism, I had to write some Merle. This is also an experiment—I have never written out of 3rd person before so I fear this is a bit of a mix of things. Anyway, I hope you'll give it a chance and let me know what you think.

My undying gratitude to Raizing-Kain for being a wonderful friend, braving the Marol and betaing for me. I think we caught as many of the hiccups as we could.

A Change In Plans

Her curiosity is piqued when she sees Rick visit Merle's cell. She knows he's distracted and she's sick of the looks he shares with Herschel, and now with Daryl. Something is going on and now that he's approached Merle, she knows it is something they would all likely regret. Merle is muscle. Merle is down for doing the dirty work. Merle is Daryl's brother and she isn't going to let him do anything else to cause Daryl pain or disappointment. Feeling like a spy—feeling god damned disloyal—Carol sneaks up the stairs, the most silent she's ever been in her entire life. As Rick steps inside Merle's cell, just enough to obscure his view of the outside, she sidles into the next cell and hides in the corner to listen.

Their conversation makes her feel sick. Michonne offered up as collateral to save all their lives—a woman who has protected Carl, who has helped them get back Maggie and Glenn, who has _added _something to their little group. The woman was sneaking into Carol's heart and she knows what Rick is planning is wrong—just as much as she knows Daryl will have agreed, if only because what Rick says is what now goes.

Merle knows the score. He outlines for Rick exactly why the Governor wants Michonne, and Carol has to remind herself not to cry out. She wants to. She wants to hit Rick for being so cruel, and she wants to hug Merle for being the realist because even as her anger builds toward Rick's bloody-minded desperation to keep them all alive, she knows this will change his mind. Just like she suspects he knows it as well. Why else would he come to Merle? Rick isn't a killer—despite taking out his best friend. For this, Rick will need someone else without morals, someone else who has something more to lose. Merle has told them many times over that he'll do anything for his brother, and now Carol believes it. Knows it in her heart and admires it because when Rick walks off, the burden of what he's done making his shoulders slump, Merle walks in the other direction and she can see the plans he's already making in his head.

Carol starts making her own. She dresses for combat—retiring the cardigan for a short jacket and loads her pockets with bullets. The box is still out from before so she makes sure she's got enough to fill every spare space she's wearing, and then she takes her gun and then finds another. Over her shoulder she swings an automatic rifle and she grabs some ammo for that as well. She straps a knife around her waist and finds a flick knife she stuffs into the pocket of her pants. She finds Beth, tells the girl to stay close to Judith, and then goes searching for Merle.

She finds him in a workshop, and the room seems strangely inviting. Warm. Not cold and dark like their cells. This place has known something more positive than where the inmates slept—it's known work, labour, and Carol finds that Merle seems to fit in. She looks at him as he scuttles around preparing for something he's not going to get the chance to do and sees a man that has lived a hard, cruel life and knows now that he's as worth saving as the rest of them. He thinks he's going to turn Michonne over to the Governor—hasn't realised yet that the same psychopath has a need to destroy him too. Hasn't worked out yet that if he does this, he won't be coming back. And if he doesn't come back, Carol doubts that Daryl will either. He's accepted them dying one by one, because although they are his family now, and Carol figures he loves them as much as they love him, it's not the same as blood. Like he's always told them, Merle is blood and he will choose blood over them in a heartbeat, and if Merle doesn't come back, Carol will lose any part of Daryl that she's convinced herself is hers.

He's shocked when he looks up and finds her standing in the doorway, watching him. Seems to realise it's too late to hide his bag of tricks from her as he's stashing wire into it.

"Didn't you say everythin' you had to say before? Told you I was with ya'll, didn' I?"

Carol stares him down and feels tears clogging her throat for finally seeing him the way Daryl does—as a man who will go to any lengths to protect his brother, to show him love the only way he knows how.

"I didn't believe you then and I don't believe you now, Merle," she tells him and takes small satisfaction in his flinch. Carol steps further into the room, takes his bag from him and puts it back on the bench. "We aren't taking Michonne to the Governor. It's wrong. You know it and I know it and you know Daryl sure as _hell _knows it."

His face hardens and just briefly Carol wonders if she's misjudged him completely and that he might resort to hitting her to get her out of his face, but when he rubs his one good hand over his face, the fear in her belly settles.

"Daryl's on board with this."

"Daryl will do whatever Rick decides, and you and I both know Rick is going to change his mind. I know this is why you're doing this now. Getting it done before Rick loses his conviction. You think you have to do the hard thing, that it's the only way out for all of us. But it's not." She believes this so strongly that her voice cracks and emotion spills out. "He will take Michonne, mutilate her just like you said he would, and then he'll come here for the rest of us. It'll be a piece of cake. Do you know why?"

He looks too stunned to speak, his mind not ticking over as fast as it usually does and Carol feels at once disappointed and sad.

"How did you plan to take Michonne to him and escape without him killin' you, too? Do you actually know what that would do to Daryl? And that…asshole…won't just kill you. He'll make sure you turn and it will be Daryl that will have to put you down. For someone who's always saying you know the Governor, you're bein' real blind about this. I can't let you do it. I can't let you put Daryl through that."

Carol sees tears in his eyes but he blinks them away fast, never giving in to that weakness that invades his insides whenever thoughts of Daryl hit him.

"Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do?" Merle stomps away from the bench and gets right up into her face, his bitter breath fanning across her mouth and instead of intimidating her like he hopes, it makes her all the more determined. Taking the rifle off her back, she thrusts it into his hands and gives him the extra rounds. He looks at her stupidly and then notices that her jacket is bulging and she's covered in weapons, the knife curving along her hip.

"What's this?"

"If we're aimin' to kill a man, we'll need the tools to do it." And then Carol smiles at him, strangely comfortable with the prospect of killing their enemy and whoever else might stand in their way. If Andrea can't do it to protect them all, then Carol can and will. She knows it won't be easy, that it's possibly an even bigger risk than Merle's original plan, but if anyone was going to take the chance it had to be her. Other than Daryl, she had no one left, and if Merle was going to risk his own life to save Daryl, she had to make sure he came back or risk losing Daryl forever.

"I ain't takin' you anywhere, doll."

She pulls her gun and aims it at his head, feeling little remorse as he takes a step back in shock.

"We aren't discussing this like rational people," she tells him and yet she feels completely rational. It was past time where Rick made all the hard decisions, where they depended on an unstable man for their lives. Rick needed a break, they needed the prison, and Daryl needed Merle. She wishes she could say someone needs her but it really doesn't matter at this point. She isn't suicidal, the time for that left not long after she saw Sophia for the last time, but she isn't going to sit back looking after a baby when all those that she cares about could be lost.

"You take Michonne to him and that's on you for the rest of your life. You're not so different from Daryl as you think you are—I know you don't want to do this. So, you abandon that plan and you adjust. I'm coming with you and together, we'll take out the Governor. Okay?"

She's shaking by the end of it and he can see how much by the way the gun wavers in her hand, but she can still see the second he decides to go with her. He nods once, slings the rifle over his shoulder and then hands her the bag, then with his one good hand he takes hers and they leave the prison walls behind.

They are silent as they walk, sneaking past the others and getting out a side fence that Merle has already prepared. He strings the cut fence back together then takes her hand again, and Carol finds that she's not as repulsed as she once thought she might be. His hand curls around hers and she sees that they are really in this together, planning to murder a human being before he can murder the lot of them. This thought might once have made her feel sick to her stomach, but now she was forging a bond with Merle that Carol had never thought she could.

"We'll hafta walk until I can find us a car."

She squeezes his hand in reply, replacing her gun in the waistband of her pants and unsheathing the knife instead. The knife attachment to his stump is dull, no light glinting off it in the sun, but she figures that's a good thing while acknowledging there is a certain symmetry to them now.

When he finds the old Ford LTD she almost laughs at the car alarm that screeches while he's under the steering wheel hotwiring the thing, surprised that anyone is so concerned about such a shit car getting stolen, but then the walkers come and she panics.

"Merle?" She's already killing walkers before he gets out of the car and she's scared as one stumbles into the doorway before he's even sitting up. They are coming from everywhere, summonsed by the alarm and a tasty meal, but at last Merle is there, formidable as ever, and grabbing her arm to shove her inside the car. Carol's heart is thumping and she tries to swallow it down as Merle revs the now blessedly quiet car and takes them somewhere that isn't crawling with walkers, somewhere where she can reinforce some of the control and strength she'd had earlier. She had no time to lose it now—this first time she's been outside the prison since they'd found it.

Merle leaves her sitting in the car when he runs into a bar, and she stupidly doesn't realise what he's doing until he's back with the bottle of whisky already at his lips. She angrily grabs it from him, throwing it to the floor and not giving a shit how the precious commodity leaks out onto the floorboard.

"You don't get to do this now," she shouts, her small fist impacting his chest. "You need to think. You need a clear head."

"I need some fuckin' release, Lady," he counters back, his own anger building but he doesn't go for the bottle still half full on the floor. Instead he grabs the back of her head and slams his lips onto hers.

Carol isn't as shocked as she thinks she should be, and in seconds she's mashing her lips against his in a kiss so furious it should be rewarded with blood. Instead, her head is swirling and sensation knocks any rational thought right out of her head. Merle is shifting along the seat, lifting her until she's straddling his lap and feeling how well he's responding to her open mouthed kisses, to her tongue desperately seeking his. Her body explodes with long dead memories of passion, so when she feels his fingers fumbling with the zipper on her pants, she shuffles up and helps him, tearing herself away from his mouth just long enough to kick off one boot and slide her pants down one leg and then settling back on top of him. He's taken the opportunity to release his dick and as she turns back to recapture his lips, he slams into her, spreading her so wide she thinks only of screaming and bucking against him so he'll slide out and do it again. The act isn't violent so much as brutally honest, but Carol has been used to violence for all of her married life and this is far from what she's known before.

His mouth falls to her throat and she wishes they could be fully naked, take some time, but this is all they have for right now and as he moves within her, burning away the remnant memories of Ed that have stayed with her this past year, he replaces them with something she considers might be manageable. It might even be hope. She squeezes her muscles around him and takes some feminine satisfaction at his groan of torment. She needs to feel more, wants to touch him and taste him and reassure herself this man really is more than she's given him credit for in the last week. Her hands wander until she's managed to worm them under his shirt and immediately she feels the welts on his back, the same as Daryl's. She says nothing, but her fingertips trace over them one by one as the mad bucking of her hips slows down to something more tender.

He's panting against her neck now and Carol feels something blossoming in her belly. This isn't just sex, she knows, they are sealing a pact and she doesn't regret it in the slightest. Doesn't regret the orgasm that starts low and builds until it rips through her, forcing her to seek his lips again as he releases himself into her. The aftershocks slowly fade and Carol raises her head to look him dead in the eye, refusing to hide like she might have done once. His hand is rubbing the flesh at her hip almost tenderly, but then he speaks and it's almost back to business, except this time the anger toward each other has dimmed and Carol hasn't let him escape yet from her body.

He tells her his plan, and there are parts of it that terrify her, but she admits it's a good one as his hand pinches her clit then zips straight up under her shirt and cups a breast. They have time for one more hard, fast release and she's reeling from his ability to be that excited again so fast, but once it's over Carol pulls away, looking around the inside of the car and in the glove compartment for something to wipe away the wetness from between her legs. She finds a small, disposable pack of tissues and laughs, wipes herself and tosses the tissues covered in Merle's semen into the back seat.

When she looks at him now he's smiling and that angry acceptance he's worn on his face since Daryl brought him home seems like a distant memory. They catalogue their weapons, run through the plan once more, and then she's sitting back in her seat, counting slowly to one hundred as he roars the car back to life and cranks up the volume of the tape deck. It's so loud she can hardly think, but within minutes the car is surrounded by walkers.

"You sure about this?" he asks, looking at her now with concern and Carol wonders how one intimate act can possibly change his view of her.

She nods. She's started this to save her family, to protect Daryl at all costs, but now she thinks it might be okay to be doing it for Merle, too. Walkers bump into the car, slam against the windows and Merle drives forward a little bit, waiting for the dead to catch up before moving forward again, and again, and again. It's a slow process and the closer they get to where the Governor and his men lay in wait for Rick to show with Michonne, the more sick with dread Carol feels. Her hand falls to Merle's leg and squeezes and she turns her gaze on him with eyes burning with determination. She will not let them fail today—she will not let Merle die and leave her at the mercy of this sick man.

"You don't get to die in there," she tells him fiercely, and he recognises that it's an order. "I mean it. You let him kill you and then they get me, too. You think of Daryl first and only, and you kill that son of a bitch. Daryl won't cope with both of us dead, so you do whatever you have to do, but you don't die."

He grins at her, his eyes roaming over her body with a burning hunger that sets Carol's nerves alight. "Admit it. One ride on ol' Merle just wasn' enough for ya."

Carol rolls her eyes, but grins anyway. "You losin' your mind, Merle? I already rode you twice—and I don't recall you usin' any contraception, so if you go dyin' in there and leave me with a baby, so help me I'll string you up and skin you myself."

She felt evil about planting that little seed, but the realisation of it and his sudden fear was almost comical.

"Well, now," he says, seemingly stumbling around for the right words, and as he gulps hard and blue eyes clash with blue, he suddenly grins with a mouthful of truly amazing teeth. "A little Dixon. Yeah, that might be somethin' worth livin' for."

They arrive too quickly and Carol feels terrified that she's not really ready to do this, but before she can change her mind, Merle has opened the door and tossed her out of the car, following after and then dragging her covertly to the buildings. The walkers have missed their exit and have followed the car, music blaring until it rolls into the open and the Governor's men walk toward it with curiosity.

"You watch this window. I'm over here, but keep your eye on the door."

She's about to turn and take aim, though the window he's given her will warn more of walkers than the men now dealing with the dead, but it's a good position in case anyone works out Merle is shooting them down from behind. He curses after a shot misses and before he can line it up again, two men throw the door open and attempt to reach him. Carol recognises one of the men from Tyrese's group and shoots, barely noticing him fall to the ground as she aims at the other one and takes him out before he can even raise his gun to her, but it's too late. The Governor has followed them in, not noticing her with the rage he's consumed with but Carol knows immediately that he's a fool for thinking that will be enough. She has enough blind hatred for this man and all he's done to them to make the whole world explode. Even then, Carol almost slows to vomit as the maniac bites Merle's fingers off, but just as it looks like he's about to give in, her sense returns and she unsheathes her knife and slams it into the side of the Governor's throat. His mouth gapes open and Carol sees the patch across his eye—the one Michonne had cruelly taken with a shard of glass—and she knows one stab in the neck won't be enough. She whips out her gun even as the Governor raises his to aim at her, but while he registers that some little grey-haired lady just stuck her knife into him, Merle raises his rifle and blows the Governor's face clean away. His blood and brains splatter all over her and Carol fights back hysterical screams as she remembers Axel's life spraying across her face, but then Merle has his arms around her, wiping away as much as he can with blood pouring from his hand and while tearing the eye patch from the bloodied remains of the Governor's face.

"Come on, Carol. Keep your shit together till we get out of here."

She's clinging to him, gasping into his chest to try and right the storm of emotions that are flooding her senses, knowing she has to tamp it all down if they are going to make it out alive. The Governor might be dead but his men don't know it yet. And Merle has never said her name before. She's sure of it.

He leads her out of there, circling the posse that are still dealing with walkers until he comes to the vehicles the Governor used to drive his army into this place. Merle shoves her into an SUV and before anyone notices, they're gone, leaving the mess behind. Merle tosses her the eye patch, covered in matted hair and brain matter and she urgently opens the window and vomits down the side of it. When her stomach is empty, she sits back and takes some deep breaths to calm her nerves.

The laughter comes from Merle first, and then Carol joins in, merriment dancing in her eyes until her eyes fall to his mutilated hand and she dies a little inside.

"Merle, pull over."

He is pale and three fingers are barely hanging onto the wheel and Carol fights the urge to vomit again. He does what he's told, though, and she shares a pained smile with him relieved that he's learning. She has nothing she can dress his hand with, and she tries to think, frantically looking around for something. She can't see anything at all except the blood dripping down his hand into his lap as the car stands in neutral and the tears flood her eyes. First his hand and now his fingers and she bets Rick won't feel sympathy for any of it. Won't respect what Merle has _done._

Okay, she's got this, she thinks, shedding her jacket and then ripping her top over her head. Dressed only in a threadbare bra, she winds the top around his hand and vaguely wonders if his blood will ever come out of it. Quickly jamming her arms back into the sleeves of her jacket, Carol does the front fastening up enough so that no one at the prison will cop an eyeful then she gently tugs on his arm, getting him to slide over before jumping into the driver's seat and taking them home.

"You're a fuckin' animal," he tells her, his face splitting with a grin and Carol decides to take it as a compliment, especially as she sees the fear he's trying to hide. He's already been weakened with only one hand, but now he is down to three fingers and that has to be haunting him with visions of his continuing chances in this world where weakness could get you killed.

She glances to the side and sees him looking at her with eyes full of admiration, and she rests her hand gently to the side of his face before turning back to the road, eager now to just get home and have Herschel see to his hand. "You just released the tiger in me, is all."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N…A couple of things, firstly, this is unbetaed. I've read it through and tried to catch all the tense errors but some might have snuck past me. When I decided to continue this I was going to go back to my usual style, but I really struggled to get out what I wanted to, and ended up falling back into this. Hopefully it will work out. Secondly, I love Merle. Not just love him, LOVE him. I want good things for him, and in this instance, Carol just might be his good thing. I'm not sure I can tear her away from Daryl yet…so I'm just seeing where it goes. All ideas and comments are dearly cherished!

_When Sacrifice Is Finally Enough…_

"Might wanna slow up, sweetness. Let Rick know it's us before we get a bullet in the brain for our trouble."

He is still smiling. She isn't sure how he can be, with two fingers missing from the second knuckle. After a thorough beating from the Governor's men. She guesses a man like Merle has to get his highs from wherever they are offered, and she wonders if she will ever be in the position to offer herself up again to take the edge off. She wonders if she actually _wants _to, knowing that the answer could well be yes, and then wondering why and what it meant for how she feels about Daryl.

"They're gonna be pissed," Carol says as she eases up on the accelerator, the vehicle bumping through the lower yard as they slowly approached the gate.

"They'll get the fuck over it." Merle slumps over and bumps her shoulder with his, lips still curved into a grin. "We're the shit, so they owe us big." Then he pushes himself half out the window, whooping and fist pumping the air until Rick, with a snarl on his lips, practically tears the gate off its hinges to give them entry into the yard.

She isn't feeling that confident about reuniting with the group. Merle shoots her a last lingering, intense look and she shivers, smiling briefly before opening the door and jumping out. Quietly she hands the eye patch to Rick, wiping the Governor's brain matter that had transferred to her fingers on her pants as she steps away, hoping the gift will be enough to impart what they'd been up to and he'd let them sneak into the cellblock without another word.

"You mind tellin' me what you thought you were doin' by going off with Merle?"

Or not.

Rick was up in her face, his anger a fierce sight that doesn't scare her a bit. Not anymore. Not now that she's tagged along with a man who's been far more terrifying to her than Rick had ever been, teamed up with him to kill another man that was a true maniac, and all in time for dinner. No, Rick's fury and Rick's judgemental control issues don' have the impact on her that they once had and Carol feels the load lighten as more shackles fall from her back.

"I'm happy to discuss my disobedience like a dog with its tail between its legs, but not until I get Merle to Hershel. The Governor bit off a couple of his fingers. I give more of a crap about that right now than your temper tantrum about not being able to hand over Michonne."

Carol can't believe she's spoken to Rick that way and feels more than a little guilty at the rebuke that has left that haunted, lost look in his eyes as he contemplates surrendering his control over the group once again. She hopes he doesn't. Despite everything she knows he's the right man for the job and he needs it right now—keeping them alive gives him a reason to not sink inside his own madness and grief, looking for Lori at every turn.

When Carol finally risks a glance at Daryl, his face is a study of calm. He nods to her once, sharply, before his eyes seek out the dirt around his boots and her heart thuds hard in her chest. Suddenly all she can see is emotional mess and she has no idea how to resolve any of it. She doesn't even know if she still has a choice. The only certainty is that Daryl is still everything to her, but now Merle has revealed a little bit too much of himself and he's worming his way in with an irritating tickle that she can't control. That damn nearly makes her want to laugh.

Nevertheless, she owes him now—owes him for giving them their lives back and losing his fingers to do it. With a grin she can't quite keep off her face, she curls her arms around his waist, her hand settling between his shoulder blades before compelling him toward the cells. She's practically glued herself to Merle's side, encouraging him to put an arm around her so she could help him back into the cell block, though she is relatively certain he doesn't need her physical support for a couple of chewed off fingers. Knows it as fact when he strides forward on steady feet while squeezing her tightly to his side. She starts thinking that he's helping her along more than she is him. And then she starts to notice the strange sensation that sears her side as it settles against his. The warmth that spreads throughout her body as he grins down at her, his tongue pushed against the back of his teeth as he contemplates something mysterious that has occurred to him.

Hershel looks emotionally exhausted when they reach him and Carol knows that his decision to throw Michonne to the wolves to protect his daughters has weighed heavily on his conscience. She's glad that she's been able to alleviate some of that guilt, though she's annoyed at him also for agreeing to it in the first place.

There's a lot she wants to say, but her priority is having Merle's injury taken care of so she has some time to compose her thoughts, some time to rein in some of the anger she feels at these people who are willing to have a woman killed—a good, vital woman—rather than to face the Governor like men and fight for what they believe in. Carol has never missed the level-headed trueness of Dale more than at this moment, wishing he was here to he could be the voice of reason and sense. She fears deeply the words that are burning on her tongue, so she pushes Merle into the cell she'd shared with Lori and then asks Hershel calmly to take a look at his newly severed digits.

Rick and Daryl have followed them inside with Michonne leaving to take up watch. Carol almost laughs at the convenience of it, wondering if the woman even knows how close she came today to being completely sold out by the new people who had given her a place in return for her loyalty. Daryl comes to a stop behind her, blanching at the gruesome sight of Merle's mangled hand. A hand settles on her shoulder and Carol looks up and catches Daryl's eyes, feeling warmth spread through her as he squeezes her lightly and the corners of his lips crook up into a gentle smile. He doles those out to her like confetti at a wedding—a glorious celebration though they exist far apart from one ceremony to the next.

"We're safe now," she can't help but emphasise, and it isn't because it was her and Merle that had achieved it, but it's because Daryl is safe and she even brought his brother back to him—even if he's not completely intact.

"Yeah," he concedes, sharing out another smile and this one is a little bigger and teamed with a glint in his eye. "Looks like."

She has this mad urge to kiss him, take a taste of his lips when he's never offered them to her before, but Merle still lingers on her own and the lingering sensation isn't as unpleasant as it should be.

Hershel is bathing Merle's fingers, cleaning up the blood and then binding them to stop the bleeding, and he's nodding continuously as tears of relief spring to his old eyes. "I admire your courage, son," he tells Merle and Carol can tell how surprised the older brother is. "You've done us a great service today. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you making it safe for my girls once again. You too, Carol," adds Hershel, but Carol just nods abruptly like she's barely had anything to do with it.

"Merle did all the dirty work," she claims, then her face flames as Merle looks her up and down appreciatively, leering as his gaze settles across her breasts. He knows she's got nothing but a bra on under her jacket, her shirt sacrificed to stem the blood flow on his hand.

"Not hardly, sugar." She can sense the 'tits' he's left off the end, and knows it by the way he chuckles a promise before going on. "Seems Carol has a few tricks up her sleeve not one of ya'll would have expected."

"Can we have that talk now?" Rick interrupts abruptly, pulling them all from the cell to gather around in the common area.

Some stood. Beth sits on the floor with Judith cradled in her arms, Daryl and Merle take a seat on the stairs and Carol somehow ends up in the middle of it all. It's a position she isn't happy with, not being used to the focus of so many sets of eyes at once. She crosses her arms across her chest, preparing for the dressing down that is about to come and jumps when Rick throws the filthy, bloodied eye patch on the floor at her feet.

It was an action that has been designed to intimidate her, but Carol feels her backbone stiffen and newly recognised strength infuses her with a confidence that had been lacking for most of her life.

"You're welcome," she says, looking Rick dead in the eye, feeling even bolder as Merle snickers behind her. It ends with a hiss and she knows without looking that Daryl has planted his elbow in Merle's ribs.

"What the fuck, Bro?"

"Shut up," Daryl answers and Carol smiles at the gentle sibling rivalry, glad that she's managed to preserve that even if Rick is gearing up to tear her a new one.

"You killed the Governor?" He's incredulous, like he can't quite make himself believe that little, useless Carol—laundry, cook, nanny Carol—has managed to pull off something so unbelievably dangerous that he and Daryl hadn't.

"Well, no, not exactly," she admits, suddenly feeling a little ashamed that she wasn't the one to get in the killing shot. It was short lived, however, because now Merle has proven himself by giving them the gift of safety. They can all finally get on with the job of living without constantly watching their backs to make sure Merle isn't about to embed his knife into it. "I only got a knife into his neck. He was about to shoot me when Merle blew his face off."

Beth gasps and Carol feels slightly chastened for speaking so violently in front of Carl and Judith, but then she wonders why Rick has them attend this meeting anyway, knowing it is bound to talk about specifics, though not many would have expected meek Carol to speak so bluntly.

"This wasn't your call, Carol. Shit, I can't believe you even went behind my back to plan this. We had a plan—"

"Your plan was a mess," she hisses at him, anger rising up and swelling beyond her good sense. "Your plan was to sacrifice one of us in the hope that psycho would leave the rest of us be. Your plan was to be gutless and have Merle do the hard part without even the slightest thought that by involving him in it, you were signing him over to the Governor as well. You say Daryl is your friend—like your brother—yet you didn't even blink at the prospect of getting rid of Merle once and for all."

She can't help but look at Glenn and her eyes narrow at his lack of remorse, even though he also seems confused. "Sacrifice one of us?" he asks, and Carol realises that Rick hasn't even had the guts to fill the others in on his plan while they were gone.

"Rick decided to surrender Michonne to the Governor. He knew he'd eventually realise he couldn't do it, but he'd already told Merle it was our best chance, knowing Merle would go ahead and do it anyway. Best of both worlds, wasn't it, Rick?"

Rick stared at her in shock, not knowing where this judgement came from and being wary of where it was going to end.

"You could make the decision to have someone like Michonne—who saved your own son's life days ago—become the object of torture for the Governor if it meant we all walked, but all along knowing you'd never be able to go through with it yourself. But then, you wouldn't have to if Merle knew the plan. You knew he'd do absolutely anything to anyone if it meant keeping Daryl safe, and by default that means the rest of us. So you could change your mind, surrender the guilt associated with selling Michonne out, but still have the job done. Only it wouldn't be you that was the bad guy—it'd be Merle. Not that that would even matter because he'd be dead the second the Governor set eyes on him."

Rick at least has the good grace to look guilty.

"You still shouldn't have done this, Carol. You're not a fighter. You could have been killed." She can see his concern for her squeeze through the devastation her words have caused, the exposure they've given to the group, and she smiles sadly.

"I did have to," she says, her voice rough with memories and power she'd never had the last time she'd been asked to decide someone's fate. "Dale said to me in front of you all that by not deciding to kill a man—by letting others take that decision from me—I was killing him anyway. I wasn't going to let him down again. If he were here, he'd never have allowed you to think of giving Michonne over to the Governor. I wasn't going to be responsible for her death, or Merle's. You've lost your way, Rick, if you're going to start handing over people to stop a man who had absolutely no honour at all."

"You're right."

"I'm not sayin' you should step down as our leader, Rick. But maybe…maybe you need to think of allowing others in. You can't make these kinds of decisions on your own anymore." She can't help but look at Daryl and Merle, both of them staring at her like she's something surprisingly new and shiny that popped out of a box they'd found on a run. Even Carol can feel that her position within this group of people has shifted now—she's not just the cook, the mender, the baby sitter. She's now someone who can go off prison grounds and conspire to kill a madman if it means keeping her people safe. She admits the knowledge comes to her as somewhat of a surprise, though it really shouldn't after she cold-heartedly encouraged Andrea to take matters into her own hands and kill the man after she'd given him the best night of his life. A year ago she knows she'd never have even thought that way, let alone encouraged someone else to take such action, but this is a different world than the one she barely lived in a year ago. A faster world—a do or die world, and if there's one thing Carol no longer wants to do, it's die.

"I guess we owe Merle our gratitude," Rick says, watching her carefully and she nods approvingly.

"He's earned his place." She spins so that she's looking boldly at Glenn, her need to put to bed this anger and resentment and hatred so desperate she's almost ready to slap him herself. "I'm pretty certain killing the man that terrorised Maggie is the best apology you're going to get. And I'm also sure losing two-fifths of his other hand to help keep you and yours safe has to even things out. The man can't keep losin' limbs for you people."

"Hell no," Merle explodes, though when she turns to him she can see that he's paler than usual. The effects of being beaten and having the Governor chew his fingers off like a dog are finally catching up to him. "Can think of a few things I need my fuckin' fingers for. I ain't losin' them for no one else in this shitty place." He lurched unsteadily to his feet and ascended the stairs, making his way with determination to his cell. He is in there for a total of two seconds before he's back out, hanging over the railing and cursing a blue streak. "Carol? You mind helpin' me find a new mattress? Mine's all cut up to shit."


	3. Chapter 3

AN…So, it would appear that I can't stop writing Merle, no matter how hard I try. And now Carol is complicating things. Gahhh, however will I resolve Daryl in my head? It's torture, but a good one. I think.

Part Three

It just so happens that, now and again, someone says something that sticks in Merle' s brain, teasing him till he wants to pound someone's head into tiny little pieces with a brick. It doesn't happen too often, but when it does, it forces his tired brain to accept something new to think about, to explore and it cracks him open just that little bit more. In the past he's had some meth or coke to spac up that hole; it'd be unwise to leave any part of him open and vulnerable. But these days, he has fuck all options open to him to hide behind, and if that doesn't hurt like a bitch, he knows nothing else that even comes close to comparing.

Rick has been trying to crack him open since the day they met up on that roof—since he'd tried to strip him of his 'dumb as shit redneck' ways and lump him with the rest of them—white meat? Fuck that, being white meat alongside a chink, a nigger and a beaner was fucking insulting and something he's never going to accept. Not that it mattered as they'd each run to save themselves, leaving him tethered to a rusty pipe with no other options but to cut himself free through the soft tissue of his own fucking arm. He's always been a tough sonovabitch, has always had to be to survive his shitty childhood and even shittier adulthood, but that moment had taught him a lesson about God and mercy and that humanity—as something he's always tried to punish—could totally bite his ass if the reason called for it.

Finding refuge in Woodbury with the Governor and finding some kind of role in a drug free life was another hole blown in his brain, a damned near epiphany, but all of it pales into insignificance the minute—the fucking microsecond—Rick asks him why he does the things he does. As soon as the words spill into the space between them, Merle rushes to fill it with philosophical crap that makes too much sense—Merle _always _makes fucking sense, even when he's spouting complete bullshit. But now that Rick is far from his cell, now that the Governor and Martinez and most of their firepower is dead, Merle has time to think and he fucking _hates _that Rick sowed more seeds to shred his brain.

Why _does_ he do the shit he does? It's never been something he's cared to know. He's grown up understanding that you didn't examine shit real hard, unless you wanted another kick up the ass. You never stopped to ask daddy why he's slamming your fucking head into the floor, or why he's tearing his belt from his pants to see if this time he can make you bleed. He never thought to stop and question why he was leaving Daryl behind or what was going to happen once his foot was out the door—all Merle could ever do was act and he's been acting his whole fucking life like his survival depended on it. He wasn't lying when he admitted to Rick that he didn't know why he did certain shit. Didn't even fight it when his brain cracked open and he realised he was his own personal mystery, and now that the danger is gone, the thoughts teasing him mercilessly, depriving him of much needed sleep, he tries to work himself out. Tries to unravel that mystery, even though he suspects he's way too old to start—way too scared to delve too deep. Working himself out starts a list of regrets that Merle finds himself too small to cope with.

He hears Carol's voice downstairs as she giggles and coos at Lil' Asskicker and it sparks a thought about another thing he's done without thinking, and the memory stirs his blood and makes him hard. He might not know why he does half the shit he does, views his own damned life as a mystery novel he's never going to work out the clues, but when it comes to Carol and knowing why he fucked her before the fight, he's all over that one. Don't need no head shrinking to work out she's a little firecracker that gets his blood roaring in all directions. Don't need no one to tell him that he wants her all over again.

He hears Daryl join the little group now, his crossbow dropping to the floor as the obvious sound of a baby switching hands teases his ears. Merle can almost see Daryl rocking away with that babe in his arms, the softness of his baby brother shining through and making that woman that loves him light up a little brighter. He never thought it would hurt to want what Daryl has, but after what he's shared with Carol—after he's killed a fucking psycho with her—he feels like she should be his.

It's inside him to fight for her—but he hates the thought of betraying his brother. He loves Daryl and he's pretty sure Daryl loves the woman, and that's something Merle hasn't reached yet. Well fuck. He guesses he's answered his own damn question there. Can't take from his brother, can't fight for what he wants, can't bury himself balls deep inside a woman that feels nothing for Merle except pity—and he's way too old now for pity fucks.

The baby makes a sound that is in between a cry and a gargle and Merle lies back on his cot and stares at the mattress above him. Another action without thought—he remembers she threatened him with the possibility of a baby. He doubts it can happen, they're both too old to be starting a family, but the tickle of the idea takes root in his head and he finds he's not totally averse to the possibility. Daryl downstairs has taken to that baby like a duck to water and even though he's got barely a finger to spare, he thinks maybe it's something he could get used to, should he have to.

Merle snorts. He's never been one to immerse himself in fairy tales and shit—can't even be sure he could recite one if it came down to it. Some poor excuse of a daddy he'd be if he was saddled with a brat. There's another crack in his head…a child of his would be doomed from the start, and the thought now shoots into the back of his head like one of Daryl's arrows. A mystery? Fuck, one minute he wants it—the white picket fence, Mary Jane Homemaker with a his kid on her hip—the next he's gutted with blind terror at the thought of having a woman and a child fully reliant on him for their protection, for their lives. Daryl has done that for her since the beginning, Merle can tell, and as much as he's starting to crave what he's never had, he's terrified of actually getting it. Ying and yang of fucking misery, that's him in a nutshell.

He remembers back at Woodbury when he was interrogating Glenn, so desperate for any information on Daryl that he lost control and threw that walker in on the kid. More action without thought, and more than ever he wishes he'd learned how to just stand, be still, learn some of that fucking zen bullshit Daryl has been into for years, so he could have taken that whole situation down a different track. He'd had a choice, and like he usually did, he chose the wrong one, though the little shit wasn't above goading him into it. He still remembers who threw the first head butt, making rage splinter inside his head.

He feels like shooting Officer Friendly for making him start questioning why he does what he does, because now he fucking knows he has no clue and it's tearing him up in knots that now everything he wants or does, he's going to second guess himself. He's going to fucking _change _and it pisses him off that it's exactly what this group wants of him—what Daryl even wants from him. And if he's honest, he might even want it for himself.

The baby and the cooing downstairs grows quiet and Merle hears his brother move away after a few mumbled words. His brother is too soft, too scared to try anything with Carol and he thinks it might be possible that he could crack waiting for Daryl to get his shit in gear and make a move on that woman. He knows how slow the boy moves—has wondered for years if the boy even has a set of balls at all when it comes to making a woman his. Standing on the side watching this tragic love show might drive ole Merle right over the edge.

She appears at his cell door and his stomach fills with a flock of butterflies. It's the weirdest sensation he's ever known and even though he's unaccustomed to feeling like this and its intriguing as shit, it pisses him off as well. She's got the kid in her arms and she's smiling at him like she genuinely likes him. He sits up, and he can't believe the itch in his remaining fingers to reach out and touch her, but instead he stands and reaches out to rub his remaining digits against the baby's cheek. Her eyes are wide open, looking right at him as if she can see him and he's positive he's heard some shit in his life that babies this young can't see faces. She's responding to his touch and Merle wonders, awed, why she's not screaming at his audacity. Need wells up inside him and his jaw clenches hard against it.

"I think she likes you," Carol says, and while something nasty and vicious balances on his tongue, for the first time he stills it, holds it back, and _thinks. _He can almost hear Rick in his head saying some pussy thing like, "just think, don't do."

"Any reason she shouldn't? Hell, Lil' Asskicker here thinks the sun done shine out of my little brother's ass."

He doesn't miss her grin, even though she tries to hide it by ducking her face. He doesn't miss the sparkle in her pretty eyes, neither, and emboldened by this strange, new twist in their relationship, he reaches his arms out in a silent offer to hold Judith. Carol doesn't even hesitate, handing the baby over like she doesn't have any trust issues at all. He cradles her in his arms, and suddenly he's terrified of dropping her, of worrying that what he needs more than anything are his damned _hands_ to make sure she stays exactly where she's supposed to be. His knees feel weak so he steps back and sits on the edge of his cot, stares at Rick's baby girl and wonders what it would be like to hold his own. Wonders what the fuck it is about a zombie apocalypse that would make him suddenly want to.

"How're you feelin'?" Carol asks and he almost starts panting when she sits beside him on his bed, her eyes drawn straight to the baby, her hand straying to softly pat down the girl's fuzz of hair and he can't help but remember her hands as they ghosted over his back, discovering his secrets.

"I'll live. You made quite a speech out there." He can't quite keep the note of admiration out of his voice—it would be cruel to when he's so fucking impressed about how she went to bat for him and his brother. How she seems to actually give a shit that he's alive and how she's given him this gift of forgiveness and acceptance that he'd never have achieved with these people on his own.

"I only said what needed to be." She looks at him and her eyes are soft as she smiles at him—him, not Daryl—and he can sense his own lips curving up in response. He thinks he might actually be happy, sitting on his ass in a jail cell, a baby in his arms and a woman he thinks he might actually want for more than one night at his side.

"What you did was bold. Courageous. You're somethin' else, lady."

His cock hardens instantly as she sidles a little closer to him, her hand resting on the bed behind him as she leans in and lets Judith's tiny paw grasp at her finger.

"I think I'm starting to work you out, too, Merle."

His mouth is instantly dry and all the words he's ever known evaporate into thin air. For long minutes they sit there, side by side, him holding the baby as she slowly drifts off to sleep and Carol drifting closer and closer until they are now touching. The arm she's resting on the bed behind him runs the length of his back, her breasts tease at his bicep and her face rests against his shoulder. For this stretch of time he completely forgets he has a brother, forgets the baby isn't his and tries really hard to remember that he's never forgotten how to fucking _breathe _around a woman before. Only, this woman was different. He doesn't know why, and he doesn't think he cares anymore. All he knows is that she fought for him, and he owes her whatever it is she wants.


	4. Chapter 4

AN…I'm not quite sure what this is. I'm hoping and praying you all don't think it's hugely out of character, but I apologise if you do. I really dug writing this, once I got past the block in working out how to go with it. Hope you enjoy, and if you do, please let me know. I ain't ashamed to beg ;)

Big kisses to my fabulous friend, Tami, who is constantly saving me from adding in Aussie/British phrases that would be just stupid!

Part Four

It starts with something simple. She hardly takes any notice when Merle heads out to fix the outer fence with Rick while Michonne, Daryl, Maggie and Glenn set to taking down the walkers that have kept them restricted up in the top part of the prison. It's a hard day's work for all of them, and as they rest and eat up at dinner, she mentions how it's a pity they don't have any lemon trees because lemonade would have been a _perfect_ refreshment for when they were so hard at work.

The next day, Rick decides it's time to do a run, and quite strangely, he chooses Merle to go with him. Carol spends the day nervously watching for the car's return, not even knowing why she's more worried than usual, but when they barrel through the gates, she's relieved. While Rick unloads boxes of fresh fruit they've found from trees in dead people's yards, Merle is out along the fence digging holes. Once that is done he's back and then drags out from the car's trunk a little lemon tree, and then a peach tree that had been obviously been drug up from wherever they'd found the fruit. The trees weren't tall by any stretch of the imagination, but Merle worked until his skin shone bright with sweat and those trees found their new place in their yard, and Carol imagined lemonade would be soon in their future. Rick had handed off their finds to Maggie and Beth and then grabbed two new buckets he's plucked from the car and raced off to find water, returning to Merle to give the newly replanted guests their first good dunking. Carol grins at them, looks at Merle in a new, considering light, then returns inside to cook the hell out of the rabbits Daryl caught that morning.

When she wakes up the next morning, Daryl has already left to go hunting, and Merle is out in the yard with Rick, digging again. Hershel tells her they are finally starting that garden, finding some seeds at one of the places they've raided. The men work hard, and Carol starts thinking about that lemonade that is in their future, and with that thought comes another. Merle is finding his place. Oh sure, he's still surly and insulting when he feels the need, and usually it's toward Glenn and Daryl, but once or twice she swears she's seen him smile—though one time it might have been because Carl fell on his ass one wet day when trying to open the gate.

Once the garden beds have been dug, the women go to work planting whatever seeds they are given. Carol is already salivating at the thought of fresh tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, string beans. The idea of real, fresh food makes her moan and as the sun beats down on her head, and she's licking her lips at the thought of rich, full-bodied tomato sauce, Merle is there, offering her, of all things, a hat.

She looks at it in shock. It's a garish looking thing, covered in purple and pink flowers and reminds her of something a Florida retiree might have worn in her back yard, away from judging eyes, but it's also an amazing thing because it's a gift, and it quite shockingly came from Merle.

"Found it at that house where Rick and I got them trees," he admits roughly, looking over at Maggie and Beth and their faces that are turning red from the sun. His eyes go wide and he realises the gift is now an obvious thing, rather than an offhand 'oh by the way' kind of offering, and so he shoves it on her head and stalks off as Beth and Maggie snicker together.

"Maybe on your next run you can find me and Beth a hat," Maggie shouts after him, then all three collapse in giggles as he raises his middle finger at them without turning around.

The girls look at her, wanting an explanation, but Carol ignores them and returns to the planting, a tiny smile settling on her lips. Yes, tomatoes are going to be delicious.

A week goes by and everything has settled at the prison into a steady rhythm. They eat, they talk, they laugh and they all relax in the knowledge that there isn't any crazy psycho out there gunning for their blood, and Carol starts to share her daydreams that the prison stop looking like a prison and more like the home it has become to them.

The next day, Rick announces that there will be another run. This time they will be going in the Hyundai and taking a truck—it's like Daryl's old blue one but better because it doesn't guzzle fuel like there's no tomorrow, and unlike the yesterdays they remember where fuel was plentiful as long as you had the cash, now they need to preserve it as much as possible because once they run out there will be no getting any more. Daryl, Merle, Rick and Maggie go on this run and Carol sees them off, telling them all to stay safe but finding her interests split between the Dixon brothers. Daryl takes her words with a quick smile, same as always, but Merle's eyes burn into hers until she catches her breath and wonders why her heart is beating so fast. Then he pivots and runs to catch up to Daryl and together they jump into the truck and roar off after Rick's car.

Carol takes watch with Michonne, confidently leaving Beth to entertain Judith. Hershel tends the plants with Glenn carrying the buckets of water down for him, the old man kneeling by the garden beds to pluck out any weeds. She can't help but grin happily, envisioning the tiny seedlings pushing up through the earth to feel their first kiss of the sun. This is what they'd hoped for when they first entered the prison grounds, sitting around the fire that first night talking about all their hopes with Lori and T-Dog still amongst them. It's a bittersweet memory, and completely incongruent that it's Merle that has taken the first step to giving them this when he hadn't even been with them when it was discussed.

They returned around dinnertime, just as Carol serves up the meal. There is little talk about what they've managed to find, but Maggie keeps shooting her strange looks and then the girl tries to hide her huge smile as she ducks down to voraciously shovel in her food. Carol furrows a brow in confusion. She's watching Daryl straight away, finding he's not even looking at her, but when she gets to Merle, she sees that not only is he staring holes into her, his gaze is full of raw intensity, but Rick and Glenn are watching _Merle_ with dimmed amusement. Like they know he'll explode like a bomb if they trip the wrong wire.

"I got watch," Daryl announces once he's had his fill, dumping his plate in Carol's unsuspecting hands and treating her to a rare grin as he rushes out to his post.

Merle is frowning as he approaches her to follow the same example as his brother, his plate landing on top of the other with a clang and Carol has to quickly move to balance both plates and utensils before they fall to the floor.

"I got shit to do," he grumbles, annoyance clear in his tone as he stomps away up the stairs and to his cell.

The rest just watch her carefully, some smiling as if they know a big secret that she doesn't, and the others ignoring her in case she quizes them about it. She feels very strange by it all, but can't see the point in trying to get to the bottom of it. She's a lot more patient these days than she was in her pre-walker life. Now she knows that whatever is happening will make itself clear one day. So, after she's done the dishes and fed Judith her last bottle for the night, Carol goes to her cell and drops off into an exhausted sleep.

The over-powering stench of paint teases her nostrils as she's waking the next morning. She hasn't smelt the scent in years—the one that indicates a freshly coated room, a brand new start. A clean slate. It's not a pleasant smell—in fact, it makes her feel nervous about suffering some kind of poisoning from exposure. It makes her feel nauseous. As she gets used to this oddness, she closes her eyes and almost immediately voices start to break through, and then words, a conversation going on there but drifting up the stairs.

"I still don't get why you got pink." Glenn. Carol's frown seems to have returned from the previous night and settled further onto her brow.

"You colourblind, boy? It's not fuckin' pink. It's peach. Cain't you tell the difference? Sweet Georgia Peach—it'll pick up the sun so this shithole don't look so miserable."

"It's a _prison_, Merle. Only way it's not gonna be miserable is if we knock out some walls, open her right up and splash some art deco around the place."

"Yeah, well, maybe we can work out how to knock out a few of these solid cement walls…make these cells into mini apartments or somethin'. Pick up some decent beds. _Furniture._"

Glenn snorts and Carol's ears strain to hear it all.

"I don't think that DIY handyman book you picked up is gonna have a section on ripping out prison walls."

"Don't need that book, Asshole. Found the blueprints in the Warden's office. All's I need is a fuckin' sledgehammer an' it's as good as done."

Glenn pauses and Carol imagines him shaking his head, hands on his hips, eyeing the animal in front of him that he just would never be able to understand.

"Well," he said at last, "I hope you consider this little 'letting bygones be bygones' session when you decide to start your extensions on Maggie and my cell first. Feel free to get that sledgehammer and make our room your guinea pig." Merle started spluttering and again Carol could easily imagine Glenn putting up his hand to stop Merle from talking, and she almost lets a giggle slip when she hears his teasing voice. "Really, no need to thank us. It's the least we can do to forgive you for almost killing me. Killing the Governor and extending our room, and we can call it even." The offer seems pretty generous to Carol, and as she hurries out of bed to go and see why this crazy conversation is going on in the first place, she catches Merle's reply.

"Fine, yours first. But then you're helpin' me do the rest. Not sure how I'll go with the sledgehammer with only one hand."

Carol stumbles out of her cell and gasps. Merle and Glenn are just finishing up what looks like the first coat of paint on the prison walls. Instead of the stark white of before, the walls look decidedly…pink. It might have looked peach in the tins, but as the sun begins to slant in the few windows and shed some light in their home, the walls definitely have taken on a more pinkish hue.

Carol is absolutely delighted.

It took three days for Glenn and Merle to finish the painting, upstairs and down and in each of the cells. Carol hasn't been able to wipe the smile off her face the whole time, finding little ways to treat them both. An extra serving of the peach cobbler she's made—the first of the lemonade she's managed from squeezing the two lemons that came in on the tree. She's kept on top of their washing and even encouraged Daryl to go out and find more clothes for Merle—'cause the dirty undershirt he wears every day is starting to stand up on its own. And, in secret, she's halfway to knitting him a pair of socks.

In the morning, when the sun breathes life into the prison and lights up the now dry walls, Carol wanders out of her cell and finds Merle staring at the them in abject horror.

"Holy shit," he says as if seeing them for the first time. Glenn wanders from his cell and stands behind Merle, waiting for the recognition of what the rest of them have seen all along. He turns on the man, his face flushed and incredulous. "Why the fuck dintcha tell me the walls was fuckin' pink? You colourblind, boy?"

He stomps off as Glenn erupts, hooting with laughter so loud the prison echoes with it.

"An' that's 'nother thing," Merle shouts, furious. "This bitch needs carpet. Fella can't keep no fuckin' secrets in this shithole." He barges past Daryl, his lips curled up in anger and frustration and as everyone has now flowed out into the halls, every single last eye has turned to Carol.

She quirks a brow at them, knowing that this is it, the moment when it all becomes clear—to her, at least, because they apparently already know.

Daryl's actually grinning like a fool as he eyes her up and down.

"Hell, you went on a killin' spree with a Dixon. That's like first base. Damn fool's courtin' you."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N... **I'm just a little wiped right now-biggest case of insomnia ever. I wrote a chapter that I, quite frankly really love, but it kills Marol dead. So, I wrote another one and ended up with this one. MY cheering squad is out of town so there's bound to be something in here that was missed and will be cringe-worthy, but hopefully not too bad. I'm truly sucking up my courage with this one, so I hope someone likes it and won't be too discouraged, but I will warn right now that, I don't know where this fic is going or where it's going to end up. I don't know if there will be another Marol moment or if it's going to turn Caryl. I hope you all understand and sympathise with my indecision. Now, wish me some sleep before I collapse over the keyboard!

Part Five

"Hey, Bro. Wait up." Daryl jogs after the truck that Merle has just reversed, jumps in the passenger seat and slams the door. Glenn pulls back the gate and they drive down the dirt driveway. A few covert glances to his side sees Merle with his face screwed up like he's had his mouth jammed full with a juicy lemon.

"You wanna tell me where you're goin' without any back-up?"

Merle shoots him a look of such utter loathing that Daryl almost shrivels against his door in shock.

"You tellin' me you ain't never felt the need to get out of that house of assholes, just so's you can breathe?"

"You sure it ain't all that paint you've been splashin' about that you need to take a breather from?" He asks, more than a little amused at the show Merle's put on lately of prettying up the prison. He's even joked with Carol about it, telling her that Merle was courting her, Dixon-style. It'd been funny, until he really thought about it and wondered if there'd been a grain of truth his subconscious was trying to kick his brain with.

"Fuck you, baby brother. A man's gotta get away from all those _women _now an' again before he loses his goddam mind."

Daryl chews on the inside of his cheek and takes a good lo`ng, hard look at Merle.

"Which one was it?" he asks, knowing well enough by now the kind of shit these women can ask from the men that will surely turn them on their tails, sending them running a mile in the opposite direction.

"Little Bird," Merle says, his breath expelled in an impatient hiss, like he's built up the frustration for months rather than a couple of weeks. "'Parently she's too _embarrassed _to ask Rick or Glenn to go get her 'women's things'. I don't get it. Chinaman's practically her bro-in-law and she'd attach herself to Officer Friendly's dick if he'd just whip it out to her, but she's askin' me to get her unmentionables? Girl can't even say the word 'tampon' without breakin' out into a sweat."

Daryl cracks a smile, then he laughs outright.

Merle's lips crack a little in response, though he doesn't quite give in to the humour of it.

"So, we're goin' shoppin' for the ladies now?" Daryl asks, disbelief oozing from his voice and making Merle shift in his seat uncomfortably.

"I ain't sayin' that, but I guess if we find ourselves someplace where findin' things might be likely, we could take a look."

"That why you took the truck?" Daryl darts a look out the back window and sees the empty tray and the tarp left in there for covering up whatever they might find useful and load up.

"Why? Does that shit take up that much room?" Merle's eyes are bugging out of his head, like he's never been shopping for a woman before, and Daryl punches him in the arm.

"What'd Carol ask you for?"

Merle suddenly looks shifty, like he can't get enough of the never ending view of the road out of the windshield.

"That woman don' ever ask for nothin'. She's too damn grateful for whatever shit thing someone dumps in her lap. Christ, anyone'd think she's never 'ad anything nice in her whole life before."

Daryl is thoughtful. Not because he's wondering about what Merle says—he knows for damn sure Carol's never had anything nice. Ed would have squashed that impulse right out of her early in the terror they'd called a marriage. No, what he's thoughtful now about is Merle's revelation that he thinks about Carol at all—and that his words reveal that he cares.

"Maybe she jus' doesn't need anythin'," he says, and figures it's probably true. She's like him, content to exist on what is around, not needing any of the extra trappings of their old world to make her happy. Satisfied enough to just be. To share the simple pleasures—often with him—of the stars in the sky, the hooting of an owl, Ass-kicker's bright little baby eyes and soft coos. Spending time beside a friend without talking and knowing with a certainty that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

"Ain't met a woman yet that didn' need _somethin',_ Bro. Maybe she jus' doesn' know what it is yet."

Something about Merle's focus makes him nervous and he turns to stare out his window, his thumbnail between his teeth. He's noticed the closeness between his brother and Carol since they got back from their self-imposed mission but had convinced himself it was not unreasonable that they'd bond over killing someone. Over saving the group together. Not unnatural for Carol to feel something for his brother when she's seen the man lose his fingers between the vicious teeth of a monster. Not surprising that Carol would fight for his brother when she knows how much it means to _Daryl _that she thinks so highly of him—that she wants his happiness, even if it's above her own safety. He should whoop her ass for thinking he wants her to risk her life just to guarantee his own brother's life to him.

No, it's not surprising that something has developed between Merle and Carol. The question was, what did Daryl want to do about it?

Merle has kept mostly silent during the trip, and it's been a relatively long one. They've driven in the opposite direction to the usual, and by the time Daryl realises that Merle was never driving off to just blow off steam and that he had planned on a direction and a mission of sorts, they were pulling up in front of a larger shopping village than most of the ones they normally encountered in the smaller towns surrounding the prison. Without a word he's out of the truck, picking his way steadily through three walkers before Daryl even gets his head out of the clouds and stomps his way into the action. Two more walkers perk up from the side street and they dispatch them.

There's a supermarket with the doors chained closed, just begging for someone with the right equipment to come along and break it's locks. Daryl, today, is that man, and in a moment he's returned back to the truck for the crowbar and an axe and he's managed to get them inside the store. They go in together, side-by-side, but it's free of walkers and Daryl feels disappointed. The store hasn't been touched and Merle releases a long, delighted whistle. Like Daryl he's busy looking at plentiful shelves and boxes of product sitting stacked unopened in aisles and at the very top of shelves.

Without a word, Merle takes a cart and heads to the feminine hygiene aisle and Daryl follows in a trance. His brother, big, brash, mean as fuck Merle 'don't fucking mess with me' Dixon is sweeping bags of sanitary napkins, boxes of tampons and condoms by the plenty into the cart, almost having it filled before even thinking of anything else. Daryl doesn't know quite what to think when Merle sweeps up at least ten boxes of pregnancy tests and throws them in, and he raises a brow in question.

"Way the farmgirl and the chink go at it, they'll be needin' some of these soon enough. Hell, for all I know they're already plannin' for it, askin' me to knock a hole in the wall and extend their place. Whatcha doin' just standin' there watchin', boy? Start loadin' up that trolley. Shitloads of stuff here to fill it up with."

Merle's laughing as Daryl starts collecting up all the toothpaste and toothbrushes, shampoo, body creams, anything he can lay his hands on that he knows the women might appreciate and he can't help but wonder if any of this will make Carol smile extra special or if she's really okay without all these comforts that would once have been her usual in the pre-apocalyptic world.

It's almost an afterthought for them to gather more carts to collect the boxes of cans, more cans than they know what to do with, and Daryl can't help but think back to Merle's derisive tone when he'd accused Daryl of going soft looking for this very thing when he should be making do in the woods on his own skills and knowledge. It hits him like a freight train—Merle's softening too, just like he has and he fears the reason might be the one thing he doesn't want to consider.

Carol.

He's never known Merle to be the type to be friendly with a woman—not unless he had a far-from-friendly goal in mind. Painting the prison, planting fruit trees, putting down carpet the second Carol complains about her feet being cold on the cement floors and how she's concerned she'll get arthritis in her old age if she has to stand on it forever. The pieces are clicking into place and it makes Daryl feel a little ill. It's not that he's ever made a claim on Carol's time or affections—he's never thought he had to. He's always valued her, always known she was special and rare in a world that needed women like her to exist just to keep them all standing, and he's always figured he'd have time to sort out the dance they've been slowly navigating. Only, now he's wondering if he's been a fool all along and the only reason she's been patient with him is because there was no one else she was interested in. Now there's his brother, larger than life and with skills the same as his, with pain the same as his, with fucking _scars _the same as his and he wonders if he's lost the shine of being special to her all the sudden.

"What the fuck is up with you?" Merle confronts him as they start dumping their haul into the truck and suddenly he can't talk, shrugs his shoulders instead, sulks. If he talks he might start asking questions and Daryl isn't so sure he wants the answers.

Merle points across the road. "There's a bike shop over yonder. Gonna go look for spare parts, tires and shit. Never know when the bike will need a patch job." Daryl keeps watch, knowing that while it's quiet now, it doesn't take much for one walker to turn into two, and two to turn into twenty in the blink of an eye. He's called it, too. Merle takes his time, swearing when something crashes to the ground at the place he's gone into and a walker stumbles around a corner. Daryl lets it get closer, swinging his crossbow onto his shoulder and lets the arrow sing through the air before it 'pings' straight through the dead eye socket. The body hasn't even hit the ground before another has taken its place. Daryl walks swiftly toward the shopfront, rapping on the door and telling his brother in an urgent voice that it's time to go, letting loose another arrow as the walker starts it's pathetic, desperate jog toward him, towards food.

"Hurry the fuck up, Merle," he calls as two, three and four are called to their location, and as he swiftly retrieves the two arrows he's shot off in preparation to fight an escalating battle, Merle erupts from the store, whooping up a storm carrying what looks like leather and a pair of boots—way too small for his brother's bulky frame—and as more walkers skip and trip their way forwards Daryl's stomach sinks. That jacket is a woman's size and he's going to bet this world to hell that it ain't for the little songbird of the group.

His asshole brother has gone and got Carol her first leather jacket and biker boots.

Maybe it's time he started asking those questions.


	6. Chapter 6

AN… LL, I'm all flushed! I can't believe you suggested that either, and I REALLY can't believe I'm actually considering it. Carol would have to end up the most satisfied woman in the whole Apocalypse!

I can't quite believing I'm posting another chapter of this so soon. I've sadly neglected my test-knitting project to write this, trying desperately hard to bridge the gap toward the Daryl chapter I'm so nervous about. Again, I apologise for any mess you might find in here. tam isn't home yet and there's been no one around today to bounce this off of, so if anything needs fixing, PLEASE let me know!

Many, many thanks to the awesome reviews last night. You can't possibly know how much what you say influences how this ends up going. I am just flying with all the possible ways I can resolve all this, so please keep them coming!

**Part Six**

Merle isn't going to admit it to anybody, but he's in hiding. He's acting like a pussy, hanging out in the workshop while the women bounce around the bounty he and Daryl brought back—hiding from Carol and the jacket and boots he's risked his and his brother's ass to get for her, and hiding from Daryl who is starting to get a clue that Merle might have a hankering for his woman.

He has no explanation for the way he's been behaving lately. All he knows is that he's tired of watching from the sidelines while his brother does abso-fucking-lutely nothing to claim that woman as his own and every day that she wanders between them uncertain, Merle pictures her belly rounding with his child. Pictures her naked in his bed, her body a blank canvas he can paint pictures on with his tongue.

He knows without a doubt that she's never going to fall for him like she has his brother. There's _history _between those two—complicated, traumatic, miserable history that he hasn't got a hope of eclipsing, not when her girl is long gone and Daryl's changed in large part to the beat of her approval. She's torn Daryl to pieces, stripped him of the unconfident, angry, bitter, lost soul that he was and remade him as someone that fucking mattered. Someone who had a role and responsibility in this life, and she'd given him her love. Dumbass was still too blind to see it—or too fucking scared to deal with it.

He can't even make fun of his brother about how pussy whipped he's become, because as Merle envisions the pinkest fucking prison he's ever had the misfortune to see—and all at his own singular hand—the carpet he's fucked his own knees up to lay for her, the small touches he's gathered to try to make things nicer for her, he realises he's fallen into the same trap as his brother. He's been overcome by the same insidious charm she oozes out to ensnare and trap the Dixon boys as easily as they can trap a rabbit. He knows without even using a mirror that the smiles he graces people with now are filled less with his usual sneers and cocky bravado and more with actual amusement or pleasure to be sharing some part of his day with people that don't expect him to go out and pillage and kill other survivors simply for the thrill of taking what they've got.

She overwhelms him, and this is why he's taken to hiding like a little bitch with its tail between its legs. If he doesn't he's afraid he's going to let something spill out of his mouth—something that will probably sound a lot like begging for her to give him the chance she's given his brother, only he's not going to sit on his fucking hands—no joke—around her. All she's going to have to do is give him the nod and he'd be all over her, stripping off her clothes and giving it to her like he knows Daryl doesn't know how.

And then he hates himself, because as much as he wants her, he knows his fool brother does actually love her, even if he's too dickless to make the first move. He knows everyone left in the prison thinks he doesn't care about his brother the way he should—that Merle's the type that takes whatever he wants without asking, without thinking of the repercussions—and for the most part they'd be right. In the past he's always taken to hiding himself and his own pain, his own sense of uselessness, his own failures, hidden behind alcohol and drugs and anything else that can push the words of his daddy away. If he never hears how good for nothing he is again, it will still be too soon. And Daryl's heard it all as well, but that brave little shit never hid. Withdrew, sure, but he never succumbed to the sweet bliss that came at the end of a needle—at least, not for long enough for it to really blot out the bitterness of life. He's never run away from a problem, throwing his back up against a wall and looking down his nose at it. He's never run away when it all got too much and he was going to kill or be killed. No, Daryl was the survivor, the courage, the meaning behind all their daddy's mixed up, devastating bullshit and Merle was the one that was the true disappointment. So, as much as he wanted Carol to be sleeping in _his _bed every night, as much as he wanted to see _his _child grow in her belly, he knew he had no right to it. She was Daryl's gift, and the little fucker deserves it—her—far more than he does.

Apparently she isn't so appreciative of his attempts to lose himself within the prison grounds. He's barely got settled in the room, looking around for a purpose to be in there, or even an activity that's going to take up some of his time, when suddenly she's there, burning up his air until he struggles to breathe. She's wearing the coat, stiff black leather, fitted and hugging into her waist even as it flares around her hips and he's harder than he thinks he's been in years. Fuck, if she don't look a sight for very sore eyes. If he can find her some leather pants he knows he just might come in his pants as if he was thirteen again, like that scary little shit, Carl.

"So," she says, her smile heady and seductive and he knows that she doesn't even have a clue that she's giving off that kind of vibe. "Is this like our place or something?"

He remembers the last time they met in there, when she'd aimed a gun at him and forced him to abandon his plan to deliver Michonne to the Governor and instead adopt hers. Foreplay, pure and simple, and he shoots her a wicked grin.

"Could be." His molten gaze soaks her up and desire takes root, switching off his higher intelligence completely. "You think we need a place?"

Her cheeks flush warm and he can feel it all the way over where he's standing at the bench, can feel the invisible pull toward her as she stands just inside the door.

"I just wanted to thank you, for the coat and the boots." Her lips spread in a grin and he can't help but imagine them covered with red lipstick and surrounding his dick. "I think they are without doubt the coolest things I've ever owned."

"You're a woman," he points out and her eyebrow rises like she's never had any doubt about that, though obviously others have. "Body like yours shouldn't be hidin' under fuck ugly jackets big enough for two burly men to wear at once."

She giggles and he can feel his blood heating beneath the surface of his flesh, feels it starting a slow burn as it rockets along his veins.

"Beggars can't be choosers during the end of days," she warns him, though her lips are still curved upward and her eyes sparkle with humour.

"Bullshit. Enough places still out there to find decent things to wear. Problem is, you ain't gettin' out of these grounds often enough to go find 'em. You need to stop thinkin' of yourself last and start thinkin' of your own needs."

She's closer now, close enough that she lifts and rests her hand against his cheek.

"Well, aren't you sweetest thing," she says in wonder and damned if it doesn't turn his stomach into knots. "Truth is, I don't need much, Merle. I don't care if I'm not ready to step onto the front cover of Vogue."

"Oh hell, darlin'. I'm thinkin' somethin' more along the lines a page three or the centrefold."

She gasps in shock and his journey is complete. He's hornier than a two-peckered billy goat with the fierce memory of thrusting inside her to goad him on.

"Don't page three spreads require a woman to be naked?" She gulps and he feels a pulse throb in his dick.

"Fuck yeah," he agrees. "Or at least topless. Go on," he encourages, leaning back on the bench, crossing his arms and licking his lips hungrily. "Show us your tits."

"Merle!" She's scandalised, but he can tell she kind of likes it, too. Can tell she's thinking about it. He's only partially ashamed of himself, the other part is riled up and rearing to take her for a run like she's never known.

He feels desperate for some kind of sensation, some kind of compensation for how worked up he is, and he doesn't need more than three fingers to clasp around her wrist and yank her toward him, turning sharply and pinning her against the bench with his hips in one, fluid motion that has her chest heaving and rubbing enticingly against him.

"Can at least show ol' Merle a bit a gratitude for almost being chomped on to get you that kickass leather." The cockiness has disappeared into thin air and as she just slightly shifts position, he moans low and painful at how his dick is now squeezed tight against her pelvis and the softness of her belly.

"Would a thank you kiss do?" she asks hopefully and he damn near ignites.

"Hell, yes. It's a start."

Before he's able to process more than the thought that she's just told him she's willing to kiss his ugly ass, her lips are there, her tongue in his mouth, her arm hooked around his neck holding him so close he knows he doesn't need to see her tits now because she's just engraved them on his chest. His half-good hand slides down over her ass, cupping against a ripe cheek as he encourages her to hop up a little and he can place his dick exactly where he wants it, rubbing uselessly between two sets of clothing against an opening he wishes desperately was clear for entry. She's poking her tongue into his mouth and he's sucking on it for all he's worth. When she yanks her mouth away, panting desperately for air, he seizes the opportunity and trails hot breaths and damp lips down her throat, nibbling and licking and has no idea when he's decided it's a good idea to let his fingers do the walking but congratulates himself for his usual brilliance when his thumb and finger squeeze her nipple as the palm of his hand cups the swell of her titty. She jerks her hips into him and he's a lost. Fucking. Cause. Animalistic need comes roaring down on him and he hardly knows who is working the clothes aside, only that in a blinding haze he has her breast in his mouth, his teeth teasing the nipple with alternating bites and sucking pulls while his middle finger sinks deep into her pussy and his thumb settles into a maddeningly simple rhythm against her clit.

Her skin is sleek, a light sweat coating her. It tastes salty and delicious but then, as he can feel her body gyrating and urging her on, her lips start uttering one word that chills him, though he's impressed as hell she has enough of a working brain still that she's able to even process words.

"No. Stop. We can't _do _this." The words aren't urgent, he knows she doesn't really mean them, but they serve as the proverbial bucket of cold water with a picture of Daryl's face as an added buzzkill thrown all over him. He wrenches himself away, feeling all kinds of cruel as she almost cries with the lack of completion, but he can tell, too, that she's relieved.

She looks like a hot mess, her top wrenched up above a gorgeous rack, not too small and perfectly formed and sweet, light brown nipples the colour of honey. Her chest is heaving and she's struggling to breathe properly, and dang it, he's fucking proud of himself, though it doesn't take long before he feels ashamed, too. He turns away, allowing her the privacy to get her shit together because the second he saw his brother's devastated face in his head he's turned as soft as a baby's ass. He tries to banish the vision of how wet she is for him and he clamps down hard on the urge to stick his fingers in his mouth and taste the tang that she's left behind. He nearly jumps clear out of his skin when her hand gently touches his shoulder.

He turns and finds her blushing beautifully.

"In case that kiss told you things other than what it was supposed to, thank you. For the boots—which are amazing—and the jacket. I really love them."

Before he can formulate a witty comeback—or a lewd suggestion that she'd look even better if she only wore the jacket and boots, she's run out of there like she's got the devil on her tail.

Merle grins and he has a suspicion it looks more than a little evil. More than one person has told him he's the devil, including himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN… **So, here we have it, the chapter I wrote two chapters ago that vastly altered my view of where this fic was going. I think I just amped up the angst…and now I don't know what the hell I'm doing! Like it? Hate it? Pissed as hell at me for turning it in this direction? I'm all ears, folks. Feedback is like crack, or, you know, really good chocolate!

Part Seven

She hasn't really been alone with Daryl since she'd gone out with Merle and returned a murderer. There had been a few reasons for this—chance being one of them, but if she's honest with herself, it's because Carol doesn't know how to be with a man she's loved for a full year when she's had sex with his brother—and enjoyed it. Some nights she lies in her cot, crippled with grief that she's lost her only chance with Daryl by forming any kind of bond with Merle. Some nights she burns with the memory of having the older brother inside her, moving against her, rubbing her into a frenzy of passion that she's dearly missed. And when she strips everything away—all the useless yearning for some sign of affection from Daryl, her role as home-keeper and den mother for everyone in the group, peacekeeper between Merle and the rest—she has to admit that she really has no clue how she _feels _anymore_._

She doesn't know Merle. She only knows tiny chunks of him that she's learned from Daryl—the brother that always seemed to leave him behind but reappeared often enough so that Daryl still formed the fiercest love for his sibling that anyone could ever imagine. The man who'd fled to the army to _try _to quiet his demons but who was unable to stem the flow of panic and pain long enough to be a success. He was a man who hid his humanity behind his toughness like it was the only thing that could exist, and while he did it he buried the most likable parts of himself so deep that it had taken a madman threatening them all for him to let any of those traits crack free, giving her a glimpse of who he really was. Of whom he could have been, if given the chance.

Tonight she creeps out into the darkness, seeking Daryl as he slips into the guard tower to take watch. Glenn passes her, throwing a distracted smile her way before bounding into the cell block with weariness worn into his very being. "Get some rest," she calls to him, her hand brushing his back as he passes. She is so proud of Glenn. She knows that he's trying extra hard with Merle out of a strange sense of gratitude—Merle has given him the gift of a dead Governor, something he'd expected Rick to do but who hadn't been able deliver. The man had finally raised above all his previous hurt and calmness is beginning to settle amongst them at last.

She takes the stairs slowly, making each one count with a thought about what she is doing. Why has she avoided Daryl? One step. Does she really want to see him now? Two steps. How will she cope looking at his face, watching his body and using all the restraint she's ever been able to muster to prevent herself from throwing her arms around him and begging him to love her back? Three steps. How will she cope if the attraction is gone? Four steps. Onward she goes, climbing higher, questioning herself incessantly until she's almost throbbing with fear by the time she reaches the top. She stands in the doorway, silent, and watches him as he stands as solid as a man can, his crossbow strapped across his back, one hand moulded against his hip and the other clutching the barrier in front of him. His hair has gotten long and shaggy—it suits him in a rugged, survivalist hunk of man way—and he squints as he looks out in the distance at the trees, at the fence and what might be pushing up against it desperate to get in and consume their lives, bathing them in their own blood.

She can see one of his scars peeping up through the top of his shirt front, his arms brown and toned and flexing as his grip on his hip tightens. The light of the moon makes him look majestic and Carol knows that her heart bursts for this man.

"You plannin' on standin' there all night or you gonna come here an' keep watch with me?"

She can't answer, the words stuck in her throat like a dry chunk of cake with nothing to wash it down with. Instead, she moves beside him, placing both hands on the barrier next to his and she looks out to see if she can find the thing that he's been so focused on. There is nothing in particular and she knows that he just finds the night beautiful. That anything that has made it through the day and gets to see the magic of the darkness on the wild—letting the world wind down and sleep—is a very special thing, and now that the Governor is dead, their special nights can be plentiful.

"I didn't understand why you left with Merle," he tells her, and Carol has to close her eyes and squeeze them tight to stop the first of the tears that want to splash out at this moment. "Knew Rick's plan—didn' agree but what was I gonna do? By the time we realised you were both missin' and Michonne wasn't…damned if we knew what the hell was goin' on. What the hell were you thinking?"

She takes a deep breath before even considering opening her eyes, hoping against hope it might push aside the painful lump of tears anchored in her throat.

"You. I was only thinkin' of you," she says and hopes it's enough. She really should stop bothering, because it hardly ever is.

"The hell? How would thinkin' of me make you do somethin' shit for brains crazy like go meet the Governor with Merle?"

She laughs. Hasn't everything she's done or thought or said since meeting Daryl Dixon been half way to crazy?

"You love your brother." It's a fact she doesn't need confirmation of, but Daryl nods anyway, and another rush of devotion floods through her. Of course he loves Merle, she's known it since he broke at the quarry and attacked a camp full of men in despair that they'd left Merle to die on a roof with walkers the other side of a flimsy, pad-locked door. "I just…I couldn't let you lose him again. If he'd taken Michonne to the Governor, he wasn' gonna to be coming back. Rick had to know that when he involved him. Sure, he was hopin' that handin' Michonne over would be the end of it, but in case it was all a trick, it wouldn't much matter to the rest of us that it was Merle that got taken down rather than one of you. Rick…he was trying to protect the group. You're one of the group. To Rick—and everyone else, I guess—Merle isn't. I didn't see it that way."

She _hates _how that hurt eats away at her heart. At first she'd made a deal with the devil, trusting only in the fact that he was Daryl's brother and that would at least give her a small amount of safety. Once they'd been alone, once he'd been forced to be open and vulnerable with her, she'd seen so much more than any of the others would ever have been allowed to witness. Hershel had known, she thinks now. Hershel understands the bind of family and what Merle would have done for Daryl—and she'd known it too. They were the only two and she's so very glad now that she did, that she was able to walk into that room, stand before Merle Dixon, aim a gun at him and make him follow _her _plan and trust that it was the best one they had to give Daryl what he wanted.

Daryl turns fully to face her and Carol can't help but feel a flicker of fear sprint toward her heart.

"Didn' you _see _him that day?" he explodes, angry. "He was tearing the place apart for a fix. He wanted an escape. He weren't fixin' to save the damn world."

"Not the world, Daryl. Just you."

Her voice sounds all wispy and strange and the words burn in her throat like she's about to burst into tears, because she knows. Knows it's coming and there's nothing she can do to stop it. Nothing she can say to make it not blow apart her little fantasy that everything would one day just _work _between them and she'd have him like she's always wanted. His eyes narrow, and he searches deeply for some spark within her eyes that will tell him what he suddenly wants to know but doesn't want to have to ask. She doesn't make it easy for herself or him, dropping her gaze to the floor and trying to bank up courage to only speak the truth when he asks.

"What happened?"

It aches inside, this truth that wants to stay rooted in the private part of her brain. There are so many secrets locked away in there—some of the obscene things Ed has made her do in the past, the threats he'd made toward her, how she'd prevented him killing his own daughter in a fit of rage one night when the baby just wouldn't shut up. Things that have happened to hurt and humiliate her, but this time… She's not the one who ever hurts others. She's never been the one that had the power to bring someone else to their knees and now she knows she's being fanciful because Daryl has never followed her flirting attempts with any kind of return. He's never reached out and touched her, never accidentally brushed against her. Never promised her anything more than a closeness in friendship than he has with anyone else. But she owes him the truth, even if it won't have the impact on him that it does on her.

If it doesn't…she doesn't know what she will do then. Is it the green light to start exploring the option of Merle? Or is that too selfish to even consider? Is it even _right? _Would it make Merle anything but a consolation prize? She doesn't think he'd stand that for long, if it were the truth.

The fury and madness of this torture is starting to drive her crazy, so Carol decides to just trust—in God, in Daryl or in the whispering wind outside the tower walls, she really doesn't know or care anymore. She's strongly thinking of throwing both men out of her mind, shutting the door and spending the rest of her life alone if it will end the torment of making a decision.

"He tried to get drunk."

Daryl's eyes widened. "Before takin' you in to kill the Governor? Shit, he coulda got you killed."

"That's why he was lookin' for drugs, though. Looking for something to…get through it, you know? What we were doin'…it was a suicide mission. Don't you see? Neither of us expected to come back, but I knew if I let him drink, we'd not manage to do the damage we needed to do, either."

Understanding dawns then and Daryl takes a step back, staring at her in shock.

"Merle only has four ways to blow off steam. Gettin' high, gettin' drunk, beatin' the shit out of someone, or… "

His head drops and he's shaking it, an ugly laugh bursting past dried lips and he gawps at her like she's the devil's wife.

"You fucked him? To keep him sober. That's why he's plantin' shit and paintin' the place—to make it nice and cozy for you. Fuck. I was just messin' with you when I said he was courtin' you. Guess the joke's on me."

The tears did gain their freedom now and Carol just lets them slide down her cheeks. She hadn't been able to see it before, but now it's as plain as the great, shiny full moon in the sky. Merle knows how much she's loved Daryl, and while he feels some kind of claim on her now, he's not the kind of man that will fight his brother for something he perceives he has already lost. Won't take anything away from Daryl, ever.

"Do you hate me?" She can feel the ball of tears loosening, fighting for freedom and her voice is raspy and broken.

His head jerks up at her and he shakes his head. "Don't be stupid."

Such compulsive anger explodes from her then and she launches herself at him, her fists beating his chest as she sobs. "I'm not stupid, you dumbass. I went with him, someone I didn't even trust, to make sure you lived and I wanted to make sure you didn't lose your brother. I didn't mean for anything to happen. I just wanted to make sure his head was in the game. Make sure he could do what needed to be done." The fight dropped away as suddenly as it had arrived, and she collapses against him, crying miserably into his chest.

His hands settle on the small of her back and Carol sucks in an unnatural breath, her body shaking with the shock of it. He's never held her like this before, but then she's never cried in his arms before either. Continuing the risk, she slides her hands up his chest until her arms are around his neck and buries her face into the base of his throat. The flesh there is hot, so much hotter than her emotionally ravaged face and she wonders if she's likely to burn. He doesn't pull away and it even feels like he holds her a little bit tighter. Her breaths almost resemble pants and her heart is pounding hard in her chest. Her lips tingle, so close to his skin and she can feel the erratic throb of his pulse against her eyelid. It's taking every skill she has not to place a kiss in the hollow of his throat, to not lick the sweat from his flesh, to not panic at how much her body tingles with need as she steps so close there is no space left between them.

"What do you want?" The rawness of his voice tears at her heart.

The answer to that was always so simple. She wants to say 'you', and it's right there on the tip of her tongue, but before she can, she can hear Merle down on the ground, calling out for Daryl. Her hands fall back to her sides and she sways as she steps away from him, weary and drained, full of remorse, vibrating with need.

"I don't know," she says instead of screaming at him that she just wants him, and just as she's about to change her mind and say it, Merle is bounding through the door, a gun strapped to his shoulder and a look of unhappy surprise on his face.

Daryl doesn't look at his brother, just stares at her and she knows now that her purpose for finally going to him was to have him reject her and clear her path to Merle. For her to look at him and find every scrap of feeling she's felt for him over the past year to be gone. It's not. Not even close. He's not going to do it, letting her have the closeness with him is a message of what it could be, damning her to some kind of hell to now be forced to make a choice and know it will kill all three of them in the process.

Suddenly Merle's knife attachment starts slashing the air between them and she can't hold in the gasp of shock at his behaviour.

"Tension's so fuckin' thick in here I figured I may as well cut it with my handy knife. I interrupt the big love declaration or somethin'?" He's looking at Daryl, Daryl is looking at her and all she wants to do now is run back down those stairs, forget all the questions that had quaked inside her before, but it was too late. They'd all run over, erupted out of her now like a mess of intention that was being ground beneath both of their boots.

She sees Daryl's lips move, his Adam's apple bob in his throat, preparing to say something, and as the giant chicken she suddenly realises she is, Carol turns tail and runs. She's learned exactly one thing seeing them both in the small space, and it isn't which one she's going to choose. It's that she doesn't think she ever can.


	8. Chapter 8

AN…Rushing out to pick up kids from school but wanted to post this. Your response to the last chapter was several shades of awesome. Am nervous about how this one will go down…

Part Eight

Her stomach turns before she does, rolling roughly out of bed and reaching for the bucket she's brought to her cell the previous day when she first started feeling off. Nothing happens, the nausea settling in her throat, in her gut until all she can do is moan quietly and beg whatever Power is out there and still working in their favour to make it pass by quickly. By the time everyone else has started their morning, galvanised into action by another beautiful day before the miserable reality of winter in a prison descends, the roiling discomfort of her stomach has ebbed and Carol feels it is relatively safe to get up. The thought of breakfast is still a bit much, so she bypasses that routine and instead slowly makes her way through the cells, checking on whatever laundry might have been left out.

Before she reaches Daryl's cell, she stops at the railing and looks at the pink walls of the prison, lets the soles of her feet rub against the rough carpet Merle has laid over the concrete. She has no idea how they will keep it clean without electricity to run a vacuum over it and adds a talk to Rick about cranking up the generator now and again to take care of it to her list of things to do. There's a couch along the wall down stairs, some other stuffed chairs—none of them match. Mismatched fabric colours and chair designs that somehow have melded together like the mismatched family they are to each other. Each chair seems to match a personality in the place, everyone having a favourite. She remembers the night that Beth had sat on the cold, cement floor singing while the men stood around, talking tactics, talking about actions that would need to be taken if Merle proved to be the problem they'd all expected him to be. Those chairs were now what kept their butts off the floor at night—gave them a sense of family, of home, and without warning Carol laughs, knowing that Merle is the very one that had brought it all to them. The one who has thought about each of them and caught their personalities in a piece of furniture. She doesn't know if he's done it on purpose or if it's just something inherent within him, but she knows that they all appreciate it even if she's sure no one has ever actually said anything to him about it. Ever thanked him. He's a man that takes notice of the little things: observant. Like Daryl.

Merle is everywhere around her now. He's painted her room the same pink as these common walls, laid a colourful rug on the floor beside her bed, found her a small armoire to put away her few clothes—but she's not been isolated in this. He's been out and found things for everyone to help them all start to adopt this place as their permanent home, but slowly he's taking over her space so that the first thing she knows when she wakes up is Merle. The last thing she sees at night is, again, Merle. He's drowning her senses, smothering her with his presence until she's close to screaming at him to back off, except that would make her look like she was going crazy. He hasn't said anything to her since catching her up in the tower with Daryl—hasn't made a move on her since she forced him to stop in the workshop, leaving her tortured for completion ever since. There is something there, something besides sexual attraction, and it makes her afraid to think she might actually have it in her to love two men, and what that might mean for all of them.

"Carol?"

She blinks and finds Rick standing next to her, his hand supporting her elbow as he watches her with concern all over his face.

"Where did you come from?" she asks, confused.

He grins, then changes back to that worried look he uses these days when he's watching over all of them.

"I've been here for a while. Was askin' if you'd be okay to go on a run with Daryl? We need to stock up on medications before winter hits. All we need is for some good old-fashioned flu to sweep through and take us all out. Be prepared to stay out overnight. Daryl thinks you'll have to go pretty far to try and find somewhere that looks promising. Anything near here has likely been cleaned out already by the Governor. Grab your bag and meet him outside in ten."

She's not sure she can speak, just nodding stupidly so Rick at least can be on his way without thinking she's completely lost function of her tongue. Being thrown into a two day run with Daryl when she's just had her thoughts consumed by Merle is dizzying. Her heart starts thudding so hard that it's all she can hear, thoughts of Merle vanishing in a flash as she pictures herself alone with Daryl, not just for two days but for the night as well. It's everything she's dreamed about when she allowed herself, and yet, after the 'incident' two nights before and her stumbling confession about Merle, she suddenly sees that this could be the nightmare that will end them completely.

She finds him standing at his bike and her stomach sinks. If he's pissed at her, sitting behind him on that bike for two days could well kill her. She hasn't been that close to him for many long months and suddenly she craves it like she'd craved chocolate in the pre-apocalyptic world. Like she craves hot water and mango body wash now.

She's wearing her new coat and boots, feeling the leather creak around her body and suddenly knows it was a mistake. Just as Daryl looks up and catches her eye, she gulps hard, feels the nausea well up in her gut again and she bolts. Back in her cell she strips off the coat, grabbing something else far less flattering, not as warm and she doesn't care in the slightest. She'd rather freeze sitting behind Daryl wearing something that isn't going to make her think of Merle's desire to see her naked under his gift, than to wear the jacket and be all toasty and turned on.

Daryl is frowning when she returns, his sharp eyes noticing immediately that she's changed and he seems to nod, a minute movement of his lips tilting the corners of his mouth up. Carol smiles wide at him, swinging her empty bag behind her as she hurries over to him. He takes the bag from her hands and stuffs it into one of the bike's saddle bags. Daryl straddles the seat, starts the engine and looks over his shoulder at her, raising an eyebrow at her until she scrambles awkwardly on behind him. As her hands settle loosely around his waist, she watches Glenn unlock the gate and then squeezes her eyes shut as Daryl accelerates toward it. They are down the driveway and out of the prison before she dares to look back, relieved to see that Merle is nowhere to be seen.

Relief morphs into excitement as Daryl squeezes her hands as they encircle him, throws a 'Hold on," over his shoulder and twists the throttle. Her arms tighten around him as they reach an actual sealed road and he turns the bike in the opposite direction to Woodbury. She rests her cheek against his back, content to watch the trees blur as they speed by, falling a little further under his spell each time his diaphragm expands and more of him fills her embrace.

They ride for hours. Carol has a numb butt but over the course of the trip; she's been courageous and altered the position of her hands on him. She's gently moved her palms up until they stroke his chest, grinning between his shoulder blades as his form shudders against her. Her butt has slid along the seat, closer so that there is no room between them, the inside of her thighs burning as they clamp around his hips and thighs, her breasts glued to his back, her fingers drifting back down, diving under his shirt as it flaps in the wind and settling against the bare flesh just above the waistline of his pants. He does nothing to stop her and she wonders if he's happy, or if, when the bike finally comes to a stop and they are once again face-to-face, he's going to blow.

The bike has hummed between them all day, weaving through transport carnage when they come to it and then moving on toward a much larger town. The sun's heat has finally starting to wane when she feels the bike begin to slow. Her heart thudding a frantic pulse, Carol raises her head from Daryl's back, aware that her pinky finger has settled somewhere south of his belt and she flushes with heat, dragging her hands back up and over his shirt.

He pulls to a stop on a bridge, more cars and disaster suspended in time as he just sits there, turning the engine off and staring out the other side of the mess in front of them. He's breathing fast, she can feel it as, just as he's decided not to move, neither has she and it's the first time she's ever kept her hands on him when it's been beyond the necessity.

"Thought we'd try and get some gas here then look for somewhere to stay the night. There's a hospital in the next town, coupla pharmacies. Maybe we'll get lucky."

Carol nearly swoons. She's never felt _more _lucky in her life than right at this moment, and her face burns with the erotic images that flash through her mind. They are alone—they've never been alone before. She's never been on a run outside the prison, never ridden with him since they'd started living behind bars, never felt she had the right to touch him like she has been.

"Sounds good," she agrees, voice husky, and before she can calm the flush on her skin, before she can properly prepare herself for facing him, he's laced his hand in one of hers, kicked the stand out and slipped off the bike, snatching his bow with one hand and pulling her along after him with the other. She feels like skipping, so happy she just knows she's going to burst. He can't keep holding her hand forever, she knows this, and readies herself for when he lets her go, but instead he shocks her again and places her hand on his hip and encourages her to grab hold of his shirt.

"Stay close," he orders gruffly, then he's loading his bow and walking through the tangle of cars on the bridge, checking them all for walkers. One stirs where it's been wedged between the wall of the bridge and an overturned car and Daryl shoots it through the eye, immediately reloading another arrow before they find any others. They don't and so she goes through the mental process again of letting him go, preparing for the moment when he's not so close, not clouding her thoughts, not suffocating her with desire, but before she has any success with that, his hand has tangled with hers again and he pulls her in front of him. He steps up into her space, his bow hanging forgotten at his side, her eyes wide as he stares down at her. He stares deep and silent and she can barely stand it, her breath catching in her throat. His blue eyes are like an ocean, endless, sparkling with mischief and desire and with confidence she's only witnessed on him when hunting or fighting, his mouth descends on hers and she forgets everything but his name.

His lips are like tissue paper against hers, soft, hesitant, delicious. It only takes her a second for all sense to shut down and she's flinging herself into the kiss as if it's been the one thing she's been waiting for her whole life. Her hands are gripping the sides of his face, holding him in place and his palms have spanned her waist, his thumb stroking a maddening pulse against her hip before he drags her forward until her body has crashed against his. Carol is standing on tiptoes, moaning as the tip of his tongue slides shallow thrusts between her lips, barely licking her before she's responding with wild, primal desperation and she sucks him in deep. She's hardly aware that time is passing, can't hear anything around her but the blood rushing through her ears, can barely continue to stand as her knees shake and her body sweats. Finally he breaks away and as the cloud of passion slowly clears, her brain can process something other than Must. Have. More. He's panting, his lips a mere fraction from hers, diving forward periodically to steal another short caress before he finally tips forward and rests his forehead against hers.

"Do you want this?" He's afraid to look at her, she can tell. She hasn't spent a year watching this man for nothing and she knows that his actions have taken a tremendous amount of bravery; she appreciates exactly what it means for him to stand out on a limb, especially now that he has competition. Oh.

She pulls away, her eyes feeling watery although she's commanding herself not to shed tears. Not now. Her brain isn't listening, or is it her heart?

"I've wanted this practically ever since I've known you," she confides, her voice soft, sincere. She wants to stop there, let what could happen just happen and embrace it for what it appears to be, but she can't. She deserves more now. She deserves devotion and love and while she can't see that with Merle right now, she's not going to settle for Daryl just giving in to her to keep her from his brother. "But…would you have wanted me if Merle hadn't happened along?"

He throws his head up and stares at her, shocked she would suggest it. "You best not be sayin' what I think you're sayin'. I ain't like that, and you know it." He steps away and she wants to grab a hold of him before he moves too far away. He doesn't go far, staring at the ground while he's thinking, remembering his crossbow and swinging it across his back. The action seems to drag his gaze back up from the debris beneath his feet and he clashes with hers.

"Do you love him?"

Finally, a question she knows the answer to.

"No." And then she screws it up with honesty. "I am attracted to him, though. He's like you were, a year ago. Wild, angry, in pain and trying his best not to let anyone see it. He's harder than you, completely damaged in his way, but if you dig deep enough, there's still someone worth seeing. But…no. He's not who I love."

There's a nervous tick in his jaw and Daryl's eyes look hard, flinty. "Do you love me?"

Her stomach drops. There is no doubt, but…

"You don't get to ask me that." She holds her hands at her sides, shaking with the tight fists they've formed in her anger.

In one step he's back, his hand gripping her chin as he makes sure they are looking nowhere else but at each other.

"I don't get to ask? I love you an' I'm losin' you an' there's not a damn thing I know how to do to stop it. You're attracted to him? Fuck, everyone's been attracted to Merle my whole damn life. He's the flamboyant one, the big man that's always in the forefront. Is that what you want? Love don't mean shit if you're sucked in by him and his fucking _pain._"

The words are little more than a buzz as she registers the agony that has splintered around them. He loves her, he said so, and in the madness of it all she can't even remember all he's said, giving in to the bubble of happiness that surges forward and tumbles past her lips in a laugh. Or is it a choked cry? It doesn't matter, as Daryl stands there staring at her like she's lost her mind and she knows hysteria is just on the outskirts of this moment.

"You love me?"

His nod is hesitant, like he can't quite work out how this is going to swing—like he can't quite believe he's admitted the words and it hadn't been in a tortured, drawn out sentence that embarrassed him to hell. She remembers laughing, but when she captures his lips against hers once more, she tastes the salt of her tears. Her emotions are explosive as soon as she opens her mouth and he sweeps in, his tongue dancing with hers until she's weeping.

"Took you long enough," she says when finally she takes a break, but already she wants more.

"So can I ask now?" He's smirking at her, understanding bringing back his natural swagger that she loves so much.

"Yes, I love you." Her grin falters as the rest of what he said starts to register. It should be so easy now, the decision made, but somehow it still feels incomplete, like something is missing.

She has no time to figure it out now as a walker stumbles onto the bridge. Daryl shoots it in the head and retrieves the arrow with determined, measured strides.

"Hey, you check the cars for anything—meds mainly. I'll fuel up then we'd better find shelter for the night. We're losin' the light."

Carol nods. He's right, safety first, mission second, them last. In this instance, anyway. If they were behind the prison fences it might be different, but out here they couldn't afford to be too distracted. Can't afford to let their guard down for too long. Maybe it was that moment that had been unguarded, though, that gave her luck, because while Daryl set to refilling the bike's tank, she hit the mother lode. Sitting right on the seat next to a shrivelled up corpse of a woman in a silver Mercedes was a pretty toiletries bag stuffed to the gills with prescription drugs. It was so stereotypical that Carol snorted, plucking the whole bag out of the dead woman's hands and taking it back to stuff into one of the bike's side bags. Daryl grinned at her find, his face looking much younger and less stressed that it had since they'd met, and Carol wondered if it was possible to fall in love all over again.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N… I'm just a little bit heartbroken that I might have seriously disappointed you all by the last chapter. If it helps at all, I do have a serious Marol idea running around in my head but I refuse to start it until I have finished this one. I was getting a little bit addicted to the love for this fic, so I hope I haven't lost too many of you

Part Nine

He watches her sleep for a while, watches the worries and stress of their everyday slip free of her while she relaxes in dreams. She's beautiful and she's his—if he can get past his own insecurities. If he can banish the thought from his head that Merle has had her first. That Merle has kissed her, touched her, stroked her inside and out. He's always known how Merle is with women and can't think that anything much has changed and it is this that makes him lose it—how can Carol be attracted to a man that has no respect for women, let alone others?

Daryl feels exhausted, despite sleeping through Carol's half of watch duty. He's displayed more emotion in the last twenty-four hours than he has his whole life, broken himself open and shared his heart and even though she returns everything he feels—and he knows it deep in his bones as an unshakable truth—he can't quite hold back the doubts that splinter his mind, telling him that love is never enough. That love makes you vulnerable and weak. He wants it, though. With her. The last year has thrown them together in the most unlikely of lives and he knows he's not the only one who has stepped up. She's become an invaluable member to the group—invaluable to him. He's not sure he'd be doing anything but surviving if it weren't for her. If he'd ever have found that string of loyalty that has tied his fate to the group in such a neat bow. If he'd ever found pleasure in waking and breathing through each new day. Her smiles, her subtle touches, her care for him when she brings him food or sews up his torn clothing, or brings him Judith for a cuddle when she knows both he and the babe are in need of it, make his life worth living. There is no end to how Carol infiltrates his life and he doesn't want it to stop—wants so much to take them to the next level…if only Merle hadn't arrived there first.

The morning is rising on them fast, but Daryl lets her sleep, content for now to peer out the dirty window—smudged with time and neglect—at the calm fields blowing in the gentle breeze. They'd found the house standing lonely on the outskirts of town, barely in time before the sun fell from the sky and they got the chance to say another hello to the moon. They'd both been weary when they'd arrived, but Daryl was still vigilant. He'd discovered the room with the older couple and their brains sprayed against the floor and wall, and he'd shut the door firmly, leading Carol to a room upstairs, as far away from the stink of rot as he could get her.

Other than the reality of death that had soaked into the walls and floor of the old house, Daryl could easily be swept away with thinking they'd returned to Hershel's farm. The peace he feels here, away from the moaning that never dies around the prison fences, is a relief. The bodies that always press up against the wire, trying with everything they have left in them to squeeze their corpses through to grab onto the last scent of flesh, is something they can't ever escape unless they run and even then, the pursuit is never far behind. No matter where they go, they are always found. Always consumed unless lady luck decided to bless them for another day.

Time is rolling on and Daryl knows they have to get moving. There's a largish hospital in this town and he's hoping it's relatively clear or quarantined like the one Rick escaped from right at the beginning. He doesn't want to take Carol into a possible herd, doesn't want her to be anywhere near danger, but he's asked Rick to send her with him, knowing they needed to talk and if it were left up to them, they'd hide from each other forever.

His lips are still on fire from the kisses they'd shared and he's positive he's never felt anything like that kind of excitement his whole life. He knows Carol wants more, that she'd thought his declaration was the point where all his emotional stalling would finally end, but he was adamant they stay safe. So adamant he'd kept his distance, forcing her into first watch so he could sleep. When they'd switched and she'd tried to kiss him, he'd pushed her gently to the bed and told her they had a big day ahead. It should have been easier on him now. He'd said the words that had been bubbling up slowly within him for months, frothing and foaming with an urgency for release, but in the back of his head he heard her again, wondering if she was right and if he'd have ever said anything if Merle hadn't swept in and threatened his place in her life.

He's decided it's time to wake her when he is startled by a loud groan that comes from the bed. Carol rolls out of the bed, one hand clutching at her stomach and the other covering her mouth as she runs out the door and down the hall to the small bathroom. He races after her, but stops in shock as she's heaving into the toilet. Not much comes up—mainly stomach acid and bile, but she's sweating and miserable and still shuddering from the effort to alleviate the sensation of sickness.

"God, the smell of death hasn't ever hit me quite that hard before," she confides and Daryl feels an unpleasant sensation turn in his own guts.

"Never seen you sick before." And he hasn't, come to think of it. Even in the long winter when they'd been too exposed to the elements, constantly on the move from one inadequate location to the next and barely being able to risk a fire to keep warm, she'd barely even had a runny nose. Nothing like this. Lori, but not her. The knowledge teases at his brain like a million termites eating out the foundation of a house.

"Nope, usually healthy as a horse," she kids, a small smile playing around her lips as she sits on the cold tile, head tipped back against the wall and her eyes tightly shut. "Probably enough to put up with the cuts and bruises than to get sick as well. This has just been the last few mornings…"

He can see the second the truth hits her and he feels his whole world drop off over an edge he wasn't aware existed. His knees give out and he slips to the floor in the doorway, his knees bent and his face buried in the crook of his arm, trying to protect himself. It feels like he was waiting for it and knows he's being less of a man because he can't deal with it.

"Oh no," she wails and without looking he knows she's staring at him. He has nothing, his insides going cold and numb, visions already exploding in his head of her and Merle and the baby that isn't Judith bonding them together.

"You're pregnant," he states, his voice completely void of emotion. He hears her sniffling and hates her in this moment more than he's ever hated anyone. His head falls back and smacks into the door jam, the short burst of pain what he needs to launch himself back to his feet and march out of there.

"Daryl," she calls and he can hear the fear but can't deal with it, not when he's so angry he feels like the only thing that can set it right is if he bruises at least eighty per cent of Merle's body.

"I can give you ten minutes. Then we gotta move."

He leaves her in the bathroom, hardly caring that she's sobbing and calling him back. Hardly caring about anything other than the wall of pain that is currently crashing down on his head. This is what telling people you love them does—he's never known love to cause anything but pain and devastation and now he's being destroyed by it. He's spent his whole life avoiding love. It hadn't been hard. Weren't too many people out there wanting to shell it out to him anyway—not his daddy, not his mom. Merle…Merle's, and also Daryl's, reality of love was so twisted and angry and insular that he wasn't sure what it all really meant. It had taken a year of watching the way Carol loved others for him to finally understand and crave it. To block out his past experiences and adopt her as his new example. Now, his heart feels like it is being ripped out of his chest and he doesn't know what to do about it.

He makes it to the front door and runs out into the yard, seeing the shiny dark blue truck parked over beneath a copse of trees and he collapses on the far side of it, tears stinging his eyes and a ball of grief expanding in his throat. His hands are shaking as he rubs his face, slams his fist into the grass and dirt, bumps his head back into the metal of the vehicle and crushes hard down on the sounds that want to erupt from deep inside him. He isn't going to let this pain take him. He isn't going to allow the images of his brother's baby growing in the belly of the woman he loves destroy him. He isn't going to allow any of it, and yet seems completely powerless to stop it.

Several deep breaths start him on the process of calming down, of making some kind of simple plan to get them out of here, back on the road, finishing their purpose from being away from the others so he can turn them back toward home. Back toward Merle. He almost loses it again but with a determination that has helped him survive forty one long years of life, he sucks it up, rakes a callused hand across eyes that ache and springs back to his feet. He remembers seeing a nail with keys hanging off it in the kitchen and decides to see if they might be for the truck.

She takes twenty minutes to reach his side. Her face is pale, dried tear tracks on her cheeks that hit him like a train. He wants to hold her, wants to offer her the consolation they've never been truly comfortable giving to one another, but something in him holds him back and he's not as angry at himself for causing her pain from his withdrawal as he should be. He's managed to load his bike onto the back of the truck and almost whoops in joy that the thing almost has a full tank, probably enough to get them home as long as they don't have to make too many unnecessary detours. Not that it matters. If he has to go scavenging for fuel, so be it. It's worth it to not have her sitting so close behind him, running her hands all over him and making him want and feel and need more than he's worth.

She seems to understand as he climbs behind the wheel, the key turning easily in the ignition and the truck bursting to life. He sits there for a few minutes, thinking, and she keeps the silence. He's grateful.

"You still up to this?" He has to know. They could both end up dead if she's feeling as wretched as Lori had those first months of her pregnancy.

"I'm fine. It was over quick enough."

He cringes at the raw pain in her voice and when he chances a look to the side she's staring straight ahead, tears silently sliding down the groove of those earlier tracks.

"Maybe we should just go back. 'Least it won't be empty handed, what with that bag of pills you found on the bridge."

"I said I'm fine, Daryl. I won't let anything happen to you."

Blinding, hot anger tears through him. As if he gives a fuck about himself. It's her he's trying to protect—always trying to keep safe. It's his cold shoulder that has caused this rift when they should have been tangled together inside that house, naked limbs, open hearts, brave promises. He's ripped it all to shreds because of his insecurities and his fears and his jealousy that it's his brother who has planted a seed inside her to grow and blossom into life when he's had all the time in the world to make her his. He can't even let her do anything but sneak her fingers briefly under his shirt.

"We'll go, but you're stayin' in the truck. I'll go in on my own—better on my own anyways." He's turned to her to make his point known, there's no argument, they do this his way or not at all, but his determination is blown all to hell when she jumps in panic, twisting around to him and grabbing him like he's already in danger of innumerable walkers.

"What? No! I'm not letting you get yourself killed because of this. You're not backing out that easy. You said you loved me, now prove it," she demands and her panic damn near kills him. "Don't pull away because it all got too hard. We can work this out together, if it's what you really want."

If it's what he wants? And that's the kicker, because as he looks at her, takes her in, the concern and love that is obvious in the cool blue way she stares at him, he knows that he does want her, but that it's the little seed taking root in her womb that he wants nothing to do with. He already has a blood link to his brother that is stronger than any other relationship he's ever had in his life and he's damned if he wants another one. Merle himself is enough for anyone, but if he wants Carol—if he loves her and wants her to be what the rest of his life is about, then that baby just became his and no matter how hard he twists his mind around it, he can't make himself right with it. Not yet.

He doesn't answer, throws the truck in gear and takes off for town, but all the while he's thinking about it, what it will mean for them all to be locked up behind those prison walls, his brother, Carol and the baby and Daryl himself. Maybe he should leave, take himself off and find some way to live away from them all. He throws that out the window as soon as it crosses his mind. He's fought too long to find Merle, fought too hard against loving Carol and he knows it's too late for all of it. She has his heart and he doesn't think he'd survive too far away from her.

They reach the town in ten minutes and he's pulling up onto the front lawn of the hospital within fifteen, as close as he can get to the front entrance. Despite being a bigger place, the streets seem unnaturally quiet. He feels on edge, knowing how quickly this could all go south, how quickly either of them can be cornered and bit, or lost. Where are they all? The monsters they've grown accustomed to crawling the streets, the herds that seem to flash through without warning? He wants this done so they can be back on the road, coasting home with a successful run under their belts and nothing but time and silence for him to get his head straight. Without warning he twists, curls his hand around the back of her head and kisses her, hard.

"You make sure you stay by me. No runnin' off, no wanderin' away. Hell, don' do a damn thing unless I say you can." He knows he's being high-handed and unreasonable, but before he can back-pedal, apologise, beg her to understand that no matter what is going on with them right this second, he doesn't want to have to think of how he'll go on without her, she nods and her eyes are solemn.

"I promise."

He considers her and then jerks his head in acceptance of her promise, then pushes his door open, swings his crossbow forward and monitors their immediate surroundings while she scrambles around the car to his side. She's carrying two backpacks, bolt cutters and a machete, her gun tucked into a makeshift holster at her hip. She looks badass and Daryl blinks in surprise.

There are walkers in the hospital. Of course there are, he thinks, but he collects up all the anger and frustration that has built up within him all morning and he's a force to be reckoned with. He's itching from walker blood on his hands and his clothes by the time they find the hospital pharmacy and while he's keeping guard, Carol fills up the backpacks with everything she can find. Hershel has provided a list with all the derivatives of drug names he can think of and Carol consults with it as quickly as she can, sweeping containers and bottles of drugs into the bags with a satisfied air. He can see her look hesitantly at vitamins, pre-natal and otherwise, and he turns his head away abruptly as she sweeps a shit ton of bottles of those into the bag as well.

While she's in there, Daryl is looking around and the second he sees a room with a sign indicating ultrasounds, something clicks in his brain. He stupidly leaves her to fend for herself as he dives into the room, quickly assessing the machines and finds a portable one he can quickly dismantle. He wraps the chords and wires around it before getting ready to run from the room. It's heavy enough that it makes his arms bulge and as he's preparing to leave this place behind and take his find to the truck, he almost bumps into Carol standing in the doorway, her mouth dropped open in shock and her eyes tearing up, again.

"You'll need the gel," she says, her voice hoarse and he knows she's about to cry.

"My hands are full," he tells her, his voice a soft rebuke. "You better get whatever that shit is 'cause I have no clue." He waits for dangerous minutes while she roots around in drawers and desks and gets several bottles of the stuff and finally they are on their way.

They barely make it into the truck, Daryl thrusting the machine into Carol's lap before walkers hit their windows. He counts eight before he coaxes the engine back into life, roaring off the brittle, unwatered grass of the hospital grounds and snarling furiously as geeks fall in front of the truck, allowing him to squish their heads under his wheels. The satisfaction he feels blows his mind for a moment, but then he takes even breaths and realises what he's done. He's stolen an ultrasound machine from a hospital without a thought to how they'd get it to run at the prison, though the generators would probably be enough. He doesn't even know if Hershel will be able to work the thing.

"Thank you," she says, the makings of a smile on her lips as she stares out the windshield, the truck turned towards home.

He has no words, but he wants to hold her, tell her they'll work it out, that he's not losing what he's fought himself so hard to express. The words won't come but he's managed to win her so far with actions. Without another thought, he holds her hand and drives.


	10. Chapter 10

AN…Not really sure what to say about this one, only to reiterate that I have no plan with this fic. I totally write from the gut and this seemed to be what my gut wanted to say. I hope you all don't get whiplash!

Part Ten

Carol walks to the cell they've set up as their mini-surgery with a heart that feels like a lead block in her chest. She knows where everything is in this little room—the bandages, the antibiotics are in a locked cabinet they found in the warden's office and managed to transfer through the prison. Only Rick has the key. She knows where the needles are, the medical implements for Hershel should he ever need to operate on them—and she knows where the ladies products are stashed in boxes under the bunk. She straight away reaches for the large stack of pregnancy tests—does a quick count and is relieved to see that she is at least the first one to use them. She hopes she's the last for a long time. This group needs more burdens like they don't need holes in the head.

Her hands are shaking as she straightens with the test in her hand. Opening it quickly, she extracts only one stick from the package, dropping the other test to the box and sliding it back under the bed with her foot. Somehow Carol knows this is just a formality—she doesn't need a little pink plus sign to tell her she's pregnant. She has a feeling that she's known from the beginning—that she tempted fate right at the start, telling Merle to survive their fight with the Governor so he wasn't leaving her alone with a potential baby to raise on her own. She has no idea now what she was thinking, only that the idea of a baby with a man like Merle hadn't scared her quite like it should have done. Not like it would have had he been Ed. She wasn't sure how she'd switched off the side of her that ached for Daryl's touch, but as they'd faced almost certain death of one if not both of them, the thought of sharing something so magical as a baby with Merle had almost made her happy.

The reality was now staring her in the face. Carol slinked off to the shower block, went to one of the toilet stalls and carried out the test. Minutes ticked by without her moving, the tears sliding down her face feeling cold and icy. As the plus sign slowly forms, the rest of her numbs and she gives in to the cries that want to rip her apart. The stick falls from her hands and bounces under the closed door as Carol gives into it. Half way through her grief something changes and her tears switch to hysterical laughter. On the other side of the door, heavy boots clomp to a stop and she squeezes her eyes shut tight. She doesn't want to know which of the men has just discovered her secret—hoping that it's Daryl so she doesn't have to go into any explanations. Knowing it's probably not as he'd taken off somewhere the second they arrived back in the yard.

There's nothing but silence, nothing to tell her who it is, nothing but footsteps walking away and a clean floor when she finds the courage to open the door. It doesn't matter who knows her secret now. She knows for certain there's a baby growing inside her and she has to find a way to deal with it. Has to hold on to the hope that this isn't the thing that Daryl uses to throw them away.

The silence in the bathroom block feels sacred, so Carol stays until she can feel darkness infiltrate the prison. It's given her the time she's needed to steady herself, to feel the small stirring of excitement and mumble the prayers of gratitude that squeeze her heart. To thank God for granting her the miracle of a child and giving her a renewed purpose to live. There is no guarantee she'll have Daryl for the long haul—or even till the end of the day—but a child, if she can keep it alive, can fuel her determination to survive for as long as it needs her to.

She's a little hurt that no one has come looking for her. Then she pictures that stumpy white stick laying abandoned on the tile floor like a bad joke and realises that someone has told them all and they've given her space. She can't quite decide if that is better than having Beth singsong her way into the bathroom and beg Carol for some kind of assistance—whether with getting Judith off to sleep or preparing the nightly meal. Better than having Rick come in and demand she go on watch. Better than Merle throwing himself at the stall door, demanding she talk to him and tell him the truth. Better than Daryl standing on the other side, saying he can't handle her having someone else's baby and that he's stepping away, making all those months of loving him worth next to nothing.

When she leaves, the corridor is empty but she can hear the preparations for dinner as she nears their common area. Her family are gathering together and it's the first thing to put a smile on her face in hours. As she opens the door and slowly descends the steps, Beth is there, a wide smile brightening her face as she offers the baby to her.

"I am so glad you're back," Beth says, that natural happiness and life in her voice the very thing Carol needs to hear to ground herself further. "Judith's been fussin' since last night and I can't make her stop. Do you mind?"

Carol takes the baby and immediately starts rocking her, smiling at the beautiful face, the innocence and already is picturing her own child like this. She knows that whatever love she feels for Judith will be eclipsed by the immeasurable joy of holding her own child in her arms, of slipping her finger over its soft flesh, of having it feed from her breast, skin against skin. Happiness slams into her and Carol smiles without any restrictions. Her gaze is pulled across the room as Merle enters and stops suddenly, watching her. He smiles at her, softens for her and she can't help the way she melts and remembers, even if shame makes her cheeks burn red hot.

She's taking Judith to bed, but to get there she has to pass Merle. He doesn't move out of her way, lets her brush against him, his eyes catching hers as she drifts across the floor and then slips past. Neither of them seem to breathe. She can tell when he draws in a ragged breath behind her, and despite it all, Carol smiles. She loves Daryl, but Daryl is running scared and it does her ego good to know Merle is attracted to her. That she means something to someone. She's spent so much of her life meaning nothing to the one she was supposed to be everything to.

She realises he's following her when she hears his boots ascend the steps up to the perch behind her.

"Where's my baby brother?" he asks curiously, making his stride longer to catch her up as she reaches the top and heads to Judith's crib and the chair beside it set up for feeding or cuddles to get the babe to sleep.

"I'm not sure. Haven't seen him since we got back."

Merle is staring at her, a quizzical expression on his face. He heads to the windows, looks out at the rapidly darkening sky and turns back to her, concern written in the tight way he's holding his stump to his chest.

"You two lovebirds have a fight?" he asks at last and Carol wonders at the hint of hope she detects in there. Does Merle really want her? Has he really been acting so strangely—prettying up the prison, planting gardens and fruit trees, getting her a _hat_—has it all been for a purpose she's been blind to? Has he wanted more than just a repeat of the moment before they went to wage war on a madman?

"I'm not quite sure what we had," Carol answers carefully, the double meaning not lost on her. The only thing she is certain of is that she had one glorious day when Daryl told her he felt the same way she did, and then he was running backwards as fast as his feet could carry him.

"Hell, can you be anymore cryptic?" Merle huffs.

"You were expecting an illuminating sermon?" She finds it entertaining that she no longer finds Merle frightening or threatening. No longer sees him as hard and cruel and dead inside. She remembers not so long ago likening him to Ed as the kind of man that got into your head, making you think you deserved the abuse the sonovabitch decided you'd earned, but she was wrong. She's been guilty of judging Merle without really knowing him, taking a few isolated anecdotes and her own assumptions and twisting them into the kind of brother that had robbed Daryl of the chance to grow into the kind of man he hadn't known he could be. Merle was equally damaged, she realises now, feeling like she owes him fiercely for judging him so unfairly. For not understanding earlier the real culprit for Daryl's hurt and pain.

"You at least find any useful shit while you were gone, or were you both too busy snugglin' up and keepin' warm?"

He's looking away from her, peering down the stairs which reveals that Daryl still hasn't shown up, then back out the window. She can hear the taint of jealousy in his tone and it stands her on guard.

"We stayed in a house outside of the town and took turns keepin' watch. There was no snuggling and yes, I think we found quite a lot. Hershel's probably locked it all away by now." She grins suddenly, but it fades slowly as Merle's fixation on her mouth intensifies. "Found a toiletry bag full of pills on the seat beside some woman in a Mercedes. Thank God for bored, rich housewives with pill addictions, huh?"

All at once joking about anyone with an addiction occurs to her to be the wrong type of conversation to have with Merle. It feels like she's struck a match beside a crate of dynamite and she's wondering if she should make a dive behind Judith before the blast hits.

"Hell, them bitches make a joke outta bein' a junkie," he jokes and Carol wonders if she's narrowly dodged a bullet. "'Sides, I'm findin' other ways to get high these days. Far more…satisfyin'." He leers at her and Carol can't hold back the burst of laughter, or deny the flush of warmth that rushes through her and settles in her belly.

"Those paint fumes sure must be addictive," Carol parries as she finally puts a sleeping Judith down in the crib, patting her hair one last time and clinging to the last moment of longing that is tugging at her heart. As her fingers slide over the downy softness, her thumb stroking gently across Judith's brow and down to her cheek, it hits Carol that she has this man's child in her belly. That a fundamental part of him is growing inside her, and she shivers. Her core temperature rises and she can feel her body reacting to his presence, her limbs loosening, her breasts tightening, and she's absolutely horrified.

"Lotsa things can be addictive," Merle confides, his voice suddenly rough and his pupils dilated so much Carol can barely see any blue.

"Doesn't mean you should give in to them," Carol chides gently, though her legs are feeling rubbery and her head filled with cotton and she's mortified to hear her voice sounding soft and husky.

"Don't mean you shouldn't." He stares at her and she can't tear her gaze away, completely riveted to the blazing hot promise he seems to be making her and for long, terrifying minutes, Carol can't breathe. She's caught, sinking within a spell she's not sure he even knows he's wielding, made stronger with the existence of their child inside her.

"I best go find Daryl," he says, his voice as low as the ground, jolting her back to the present and she remembers with shocking clarity how wrong that course of action might be. Guilt tackles her immediately and the shivers of attraction she feels for Merle are stripped violently away from her, fear for Daryl taking precedence. If Merle goes and finds him, she has no idea what will happen—if they'd both return. How much of them all would be exposed and damaged.

"You should give him some space," she advises with a bite of protectiveness in her voice. "He'll be back when he's ready."

Merle studies her, notices the change from minutes before and his eyes have settled back to normal, clear and blue and penetrating. He nods and Carol thinks she sees comprehension and concern hidden behind a wall of defensiveness and she clasps her fingers tightly around Judith's portable crib. He says nothing else as he leaves for his cell, his face twisted up in thought.


	11. Chapter 11

AN…Can you believe it? Another one. Hmmm, hoping that being a Sunday OS is where everyone has gone, though I can't work out what is better than reading fanfiction, LOL. Except for writing it maybe? Anyway, hope this one mixes it up some more….

Guest2—how wonderful to see you here. You must sign up! I am humbled that you risked the fic and ended up enjoying it anyway!

Part Eleven

Daryl is ignoring him. He's not college educated, but he doesn't need a degree to see that Daryl is pissed and hurting and avoiding Merle like he's caused it all. He might have reacted badly to this, might have acted out with a fist to the jaw or a kick in the ass—if he didn't know why Daryl was hiding.

Merle sits in his room, facing the wall and staring hard at the white stick that tells more secrets than he bets are hidden within these prison walls. He found it on the floor in the bathroom, pulled there with the sounds of Carol first sobbing then laughing as if her soul was about to crack. As soon as he saw it, as soon as she went quiet as he picked it up, he knew. And now Daryl is finding anything to do around the place that will take him out of the prison or deep within so he doesn't have to face anyone. Doesn't have to face Merle, or look at Carol.

Merle is concentrating so hard on the white chunk of plastic in his hand, hypnotised by the pink plus sign, that he completely misses the tell-tale sound of a man on crutches approaching his cell. He's too late to stash the test back under his pillow where he's had it hidden since the previous day, but he grinds his teeth and shoots the farmer a cold look as Hershel hobbles further into the cell. Hershel's gaze widens with comprehension of the pregnancy test Merle grasps tightly then switches to glance longingly at Merle's plain, prison-issue white walls.

"I see you didn't molest your own walls with a bit of colour," he says dryly and Merle smirks in appreciation of Hershel's humour.

"Peach ain't my colour, Farmer Joe."

"I'd say your interpretation of peach isn't anyone's colour, Merle." Hershel smiled knowingly before sitting himself down in the plain chair Merle has in the corner of his room. The one that Daryl has so far been the only one to sit on.

"The ladies seem to like it."

"Oh, you mean Carol?" Hershel's face is surely splitting with humour now and Merle just growls in warning. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to talk about Carol—not with these people. He knows what's coming…he's already been on the receiving end of a few of Hershel's sermons, but today is not the day he'll suffer another. Not the day after he's found out he's going to be a daddy after all. Not the day he's realised he's going to have to fight his brother for something they both want.

"Woman has taste. What can I say?" He just dares the old man to deny it.

"Oh, that she does. Carol is a fine woman."

There is a message in Hershel's tone that has Merle whipping his head up and shooting the man with a narrow-eyed glare.

"What? You wanna piece of her, too? Weren't two wives enough for you, old man? End of the fuckin' world and you want a piece of her ass as well?"

Hershel chuckled. "Sadly, that line is already far too long for her to handle and I know better than to try and stand in the way when the poor woman is as conflicted as she already is."

"What are you tryin' to say? Spit it out already. I got things to do."

Hershel is having a great old time if his big-assed grin tells the story, and Merle is debating with himself whether to pop gramps in the nose or crack his own smile at how fucked up the situation is.

"Daryl's a good man," Hershel starts, sitting still even as Merle rears back and squeezes his hand into a fist.

"You don't gotta tell me about my own brother." Decision made, the smile wiped completely from his thoughts.

Hershel ignores the outburst, his amused expression not even faltering.

"Those two share something special—a bond forged through a common ground, common experiences. But… There's a reason you got there first, son."

Eyes bugging, Merle stares at the old man, incredulous.

"Well, yeah," he admits as if Hershel is more crazy than Rick knows how to be. "It's called opportunity."

"Look around you, Merle. Plenty of places in a prison to find opportunity. An' the past year…we weren't always livin' on top of each other. Where there's a will, there's a way."

He's feeling a little like he's slipped into the Twilight Zone.

"What exactly are you tryin' to tell me? She's my little brother's woman. She loves him. What the fuck chance have I got, and why're you even encouragin' me to think I got one?" Merle's angry, frustrated, wants to declare to everyone that he's going to be a daddy and tell Carol herself how fucking over the moon he is at the prospect to change himself, to change for her and their kid, and knows that no matter what he wants, his fate has already been decided.

"I'm sayin' Daryl's a good man, but you're not a bad one—despite what you try to make us all believe. Carol obviously sees something in you or you wouldn't be holdin' her pregnancy test. It is hers, isn't it? Timin' seems about right for when you two went and killed the Governor to save us all."

There is a yearning so deep inside Merle that it causes him physical pain. He is no longer young, but he knows he still has enough vitality to be something, someone to a woman if she chose to care, and he wishes right in this moment that Carol does care. That she thinks of the babe forming in her belly and thinks of him in the same moment, a happy smile fluttering around her lips. A warmth in her heart.

"I've done some evil shit in my time," Merle admits, but Hershel's hand arcs in the air as if to sweep it all under the rug.

"Haven't we all?" he drawls and Merle wonders what kind of evil a man that looks like Santa's long lost brother could possibly have done in his life.

"My barn was full of walkers," he admits quietly and Merle launches to his feet in shock.

"Holy shit, Hershel. That's fuckin' crazy."

Hershel is nodding, and sadness has finally wiped the humour from his face. "When my wife and step-son turned, I believed there'd be a cure. We kept them in the barn, just waiting it out. There were others—Otis would go out and bring them in before they wandered onto my land. Otis…was a friend, but was killed trying to…well, it's a long story. Ask Rick or Glenn about it sometime," he orders Merle, obviously not up to the challenge of it himself, and Merle sits back down, listening intently, impressed as well as horrified. "Shane eventually got fed up and busted my barn open, an' your brother, Glenn, all of them except Rick shot all those…walkers. Made me own up to my own stupidity." He paused, as if it took immeasurable courage to admit the final thing on his mind. "Carol's daughter was in that barn."

Merle froze, recognising a moment of guilt for what it was and wondered if that was fuelling this touching moment of support or if Hershel really did believe Daryl wasn't the better man for Carol.

"That woman deserves happiness. I've been watchin' her this mornin'." Hershel stops, dabs at a bit of moisture in his eye and then he's back to smiling like nothing has ever happened. "She's happy, Merle. She's been singin' lullabies to Judith, rubbing her own belly, like she's hopeful. She deserves this chance and…well…as damaged as Daryl is, don't you think if it was going to happen, God would have pushed those two together long before now?"

"What's God got to do with it?" Merle asks, more curious at the old man's course of action now than ever.

"Everything happens for a reason," he says with unshakeable confidence and Merle nods, knowing this with a certainty he'd never have revealed to anyone. He knows there is a reason he was locked on that roof, why he'd been able to reach that saw and it was only sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone and not metal. He knows there's a reason why he found himself allied with the Governor, ended up back with his original group and his brother, and now he sees, there's a reason Carol came to him before he'd managed to clock Michonne on the head and taken her to exchange her life for theirs. There's a reason that woman slapped his bottle of booze from his hands the way she hadn't slapped his face away from hers when he'd kissed her, and he knows there's a reason why she's now knocked up with his youngin' preparing to do battle with her insides. He knows there's a fucking reason—he just doesn't know what the hell it is.

"Those two love each other, I don't doubt it," Hershel admits, his voice now intently trying to drive his point home. "Don't mean they're _in _love. Thing is, with their pasts, neither of them might know the difference."

He pauses, watches Merle as he thinks hard, eventually shaking his head at Hershel, more confused than ever. "The hell makes you think I know any different? Love weren't 'xactly thick on the ground where we came from."

"Guess that's up to you to work out. I have faith in you to do what's right—for all of you."

Merle is suddenly terrified. He's never had anything so important weighing on him before—relying on him to do what was right. He never did was right—not on purpose anyway.

Hershel uses his crutches to push himself upright and shuffles back toward Merle's door. He pauses before he leaves, blocking the light from bouncing off the little white stick Merle has once again in his open hands.

"And Merle, while you're out on your next run, look up some other colour for these walls. I can't be livin' out the rest of my days surrounded by pink. A nice, soft yellow might be nice." Hershel chuckles along the walkway to the rhythmic staccato of his crutch hitting the floor as Merle huffs out a dry laugh. He has to agree. The shade of peach he's painted everywhere was baking his eye sockets, not that he's going to admit it to anyone.

Merle is left not knowing what to think. Not knowing how to feel. In a moment of wisdom he knows it doesn't matter what he thinks or feels, it's all up to Carol. It's how she feels that will decide them all and then Hershel's observations won't mean a damn.

He's been particular to let things take their course for his baby brother, but it looks like Daryl is squandering his chance. The boy has barely made an appearance since he and Carol had been gone days together, and Merle is sure the idiot has barely laid a finger on her. Merle only has three fingers of his own but by fuck he makes them count.

He grins wickedly as he recalls exactly the last time he used his fingers to make Carol squirm and then squirms himself as his pants tighten around him. Maybe Hershel is wrong and those two do love each other in a way deeper than anyone knows, but maybe, just maybe the old man is onto something and it's this possibility that decides him. All's fair in love and war, and Merle thinks it's high time he gave love a real go. He's known war his whole life and he doesn't relish the idea of facing off against his baby brother, but this is his child, his blood and the kid deserves for Merle to step up and show people who he can really be. Merle deserves to find this out for himself as well, as in the dark about the outcome as everyone else will be.

This time he hears boots on the stairs and he slips the test stick under his pillow before Rick appears at his door.

"Got a job for you, if you're interested," Rick starts. No hello, good morning, howdy-do, just launches himself into leader mode and that shit amuses Merle like nothing else.

"Sure thing, Officer Friendly. I live to serve." Once upon a time he'd wanted to take over leadership of this ragtag little group—so much bigger back then, and his visions of grandeur had got him handcuffed to a pipe. Looking at Rick now, often kicked repeatedly in the ass by fate, looking like a good sleep and a hot meal might be the thing to do him in, Merle is happy to have sacrificed his hand for it.

Rick stares at him like he's got walker guts splattered all over his face and that the vision makes him sick. Merle straightens, comes to stand a foot away from Rick and then smirks as Rick backs a step away.

"I was thinkin'," Rick covers quickly, "now you've painted the whole place to look like a girl's nursery, maybe you could go out baby shoppin'. Get some real furniture for Judith: clothes, toys, baby bath. Take Carol. She'll know what to get."

Merle likes this idea, thinks again that everything happens for a reason, and nods even as a thought comes crashing down on him.

"Why're you not askin' Daryl? Where's the little shit disappeared to, anyways?" He wants to know how much damage he's going to have to wade through if he takes Carol out anywhere.

"He went out huntin', left this mornin' and said he might be gone a few days." Rick's already losing interest, now he's handed Merle a job to do, his distraction irritating Merle beyond reason.

"Nowhere 'round here with baby shit. Woman at Woodbury was expectin' so just about everything worth takin' is gone. We might have to go on a longer trip, too. You gotta map?"

Rick nodded, then as he started walking away, he shouted that he'd give it to Carol before bounding down the stairs out of sight. Merle hung over the railing and saw their leader high tailing it after Michonne as she headed out for watch, her katana bouncing against her tight ass. Merle chuckles, dirty images taunting him of Officer Friendly buried balls deep inside that ebony goddess, though his mirth chokes in his throat as Carol comes up the stairs with baby Judith cradled in her arms and the songbird skipping along behind her.

Carol hands the baby to Beth, takes several deep breaths—and he's honoured he has that effect on her—before she glances up and catches hold of him with a hot stare that decides him anew. She wasn't immune to his charms, not at all, and he wasn't angel enough not to use them if it might reel her in.

"Rick wants us to go on a run for baby shit. Better grab your stuff an' prepare for an' over-nighter. I'll meet ya out at the truck." He strides past her and she almost scorches him alive as his arm brushes against her. He wants to kiss her hard, give her a taste of what he has planned, and might have done if the songbird hadn't been right there watching the whole damn thing.

Carol's mouth drops open and she stares after him. "Now? But I just got back from a long run with Daryl."

"Sweetheart," he calls back, loving the blush that steals across her cheeks. "That was days ago. Now move your ass. I ain't knowin' how to choose baby shit on my own."

**More notes: **Just a quick explanation in case anyone thinks this is OOC for Hershel…I actually think Hershel would understand Merle more than he would Daryl. They have all come from abusive homes yet Hershel turned to alcohol—paralleling Merle's drug addiction. I hope you all can see it and I didn't kill any of your belief in me reading the characters.


	12. Chapter 12

AN…I think the last chapter update probably slipped by some of you as it never went to the head of the cue. Curious! Thank you to those lovely reviewers who believed I kept Hershel in character. That was a tremendous relief! Here's another for you all and now I will try to catch up on replying to reviews. This one is…a bit angsty (if I wrote it right!) …but then, so is the whole thing, yeah? Really looking forward to what you all think.

Part Twelve

The third town they drive through is another bust. Carol sits beside Merle, her stomach tied in knots.

"Ain't never thought I'd say it, but what we need is Google."

Carol snorts in surprise, amused that Merle would even know about Google.

"Come again?"

"Darlin', when I come again it won't be on the front seat of a truck."

She knows she is bad, but she can't help but laugh out loud. She is comfortable with Merle's crudeness. It is something expected, something familiar and knowing she holds such a huge secret from him, she isn't looking forward to the awkwardness that will inevitably come when he learns the truth about their baby.

"What's with the sudden interest in the internet?"

He eyes her with a brow crooked to his hairline. "Drivin' from town to town lookin' for baby shops without a clue where we're goin' is startin' to piss me off. If we had Google, could just look that shit up and get there."

Carol agrees. The only sure shot they have for baby furniture are the bigger department stores and their usual experience of those are of too many walkers for the two of them to handle alone. There were bound to be specialty shops somewhere, but without some kind of map, they could be driving forever.

"It's a pity we can't go to my house. I've still got all of Sophia's baby things stored in the attic. I'd hoped, one day…" She sighs and it sounds painful but still with an edge of triumph. One day is, apparently, now.

Merle looks pensive. "You think we should start lookin' house to house then?"

The thought turns her stomach. "I don't think I can do that," she admits uneasily, nausea twirling around inside until it rises to her throat. She keeps it down and tries to focus through some deep breathing she's forced herself to learn when things were feeling insurmountable.

"What about where you're from? Any baby places around there?"

She's startled, but buried memories of her home start to crowd in on her. She knows the stores in her town, she knows it like the back of her hand as it was the only thing she was allowed to do under Ed's restrictive guidance. She might not have been able to buy herself or Sophia much, but sometimes the ability to look at beautiful things was enough to help her through.

"Yes." She hears the weightlessness in her own voice, the hope of returning to what she knows, hope that they might get to see her house, that maybe she can steal a photo of her precious daughter so one day her baby can know Sophia as more than a formless face.

"Shit, I think we might have a plan. Halle-fucking-lullah."

Consulting the map Rick had thrust at her earlier that morning gives Carol something to do, and once she works out where they are and how far they have yet to go, she wonders at the waste of fuel such a journey will entail and then remembers all the other things left in her house that might be useful now the world as she's always kind of known it has gone even further to hell.

"I lived in Tifton. Lower Brookfield Rd. It was a wedding present from my parents."

Two hours later, Merle pulls into the driveway of her house and Carol sobs at the first glance of what had been her home for so many years, sobs for everything she's lost. Her house seems beautifully untouched, surrounded by overgrown gardens and grass grown tall though sparse in such a hot environment. The windows are still shuttered and the heavy duty screen Ed had insisted in his paranoia they install to keep undesirables out suddenly seems to have been a blessing.

Carol's steps toward the house are slow, measured to exactly match her breaths as she contemplates entering this place that has both soul shattering secrets as well as her last good memories of her life with Sophia. She reaches the security door in a daze, not even aware of how Merle is alert, checking around the house with a fast lap to make sure there are no walkers in the vicinity and when he's finally back with her, his thumb grazes her cheek and it comes away wet. His jaw is tightly clenched as his finger taps at her chin and directs her to look at him. She's waiting for the empty platitudes, the crude comments about her dead husband, the remarks about how snooty she must have been in her former life, having such a nice house, despite all the evidence that Ed was little more than trash. None of it comes and Carol finds herself facing a Merle Dixon she's not sure she's ever met before.

"You sure you're okay to do this?"

He's watching her with concern and it's the first time she's seen him show this emotion for anyone but Daryl. She's transfixed.

"There should be a spare key hidden under a pot plant around the back," she admits, her cheeks blooming with colour at how obvious such a move is. Merle cracks a grin yet keeps his comments to himself.

"Lead the way, m'lady."

It's a revelation as she walks around the house, finding the backyard as clear and peaceful as the front had appeared. By the Grace of God, her home has been untouched by the madness that is being visited on the world and Carol hardly believes it. How can her husband be mauled to death, her daughter turned and her own life thrown into a dizzying spin and yet her house still stands as solid and beautiful and clear as it had the day she'd left it?

Slotting the key into first the screen and then the deadbolts one and two, the door swings open to her laundry, her beloved Maytag looking a bit dusty but welcoming. She has the urge to hug it but doesn't think she's up to the kinds of jokes Merle could milk out of that scene.

The kitchen was next and Carol almost sways with how excited she is to see her utensils all lined up on the rack, her set of knives against their magnet backing ready for all kinds of chopping. She immediately goes for the most lethal ones, putting them on the bench. The butcher's knife stays in her hand. She'd been stupid to get out of the truck without a weapon in the first place, she realises belatedly,and even though her house seems empty, there is no telling what surprises could jump out at her as soon as she stepps foot outside again. She leaves the kitchen with the knife and a roll of garbage bags, already picturing in her mind the things she's planning to take with her.

Merle remains silent as she wanders through her house like a ghost, skipping some rooms where Ed had spent most of his time, filled with uselessness like movies and alcohol. Before she realises it, Merle has found the bar and raided it for all he's worth. She'd forgotten about Ed's collection. It seems stupid now that he collected alcohol like some people collected stamps. The joyous look on Merle's face as he uncovers bottle upon bottle of vintage spirits, top range quality of things Carol hasn't even heard of, seems just. Seems righteous. She is standing in the house she shared with a man who beat her and degraded her like it was his right, a man who flat out refused to be a true husband and father, and she is staring at another man who is the father of her unborn child. She's always thought they were similar, and maybe she'd even compared Merle unfavourably to Ed when they'd first met back at the quarry camp. She knows so differently now. Merle is hard, and brash and frightening to others, but to her, she's working him out, a little at a time, and while his past is undoubtedly full of terrifying tales, she's beginning to worry at how much she likes what she sees. Wonders at how fundamentally different to Ed he really is, or if she'd been right at the start and this world has changed him for the better. Like it has Daryl.

"You can maybe carry that haul in one of the washing baskets from the laundry," she suggests with a grin even as she's turning away and heading for the back of the house. The bedrooms.

The room she'd shared with Ed is far from her usual orderly. Frantic mess lays dormant in the abandoned room, reflecting her life since she'd left it. The bed had been dressed lightly for summer, but Carol goes straight for the blanket box at the end of the bed, emptying the thick woollen blankets it hides into one of the garbage bags and she's already dreaming about being back at the prison and wrapped in the heady warmth of home. Winter will not catch them out this year—will not make their bones seize or their blood freeze in their veins. It will not break their spirit or shatter their hopes. Already Carol is feeling more positive about life, just by visiting the place that had made her feel so trapped for so long. This house hadn't held her back, she now realises. It had shaped her to be the woman that could be moulded into what she was today: a survivor. The sole survivor of this family.

Knowing they must move on, Carol stuffs clothes into a suitcase—warm jackets, hers and Ed's—anything she thinks might fit the others as well as herself, and when she opens her underwear drawer she groans in delight and scoops it all up—the lace, the no-nonsense bonds panties, the bras and as she cleans the drawer out, she sees the little silver bullet stashed right at the back and she helplessly flushes crimson.

"Holy shit. You dirty little bitch," Merle drawls, his tone impressed as he plucks the vibrator right out of the drawer and sets to testing it to see if the batteries still work. Her humiliation is complete when the toy buzzes to life.

"Give that back," Carol demands, absolutely mortified. He's looking at it like it might answer all the questions in the world, but then he flips the switch to shut it down and tosses it into the suitcase.

Merle's eyes are flaring bright and hot and Carol gasps, just waiting for all the explicit sexual innuendos to slam into her, but despite his wicked grin, Merle keeps his lips closed. He deftly changes the topic.

"Crib and shit's in the attic, right?"

Carol nods, wonders how she's got off so easy, but as Merle heads up to the attic to locate all of Sophia's discarded baby paraphernalia, Carol gears up her courage in order to enter Sophia's room. There's nothing easy about stepping into the room where her baby slept. Where she cowered. Where she dreamed and where she grew.

The presence of her little girl is like a nuclear bomb blast to her heart. Carol whimpers and her legs start to wobble as she looks around at the pretty candy pink and white stripes of the child's wallpaper, picked out when she was five and not quite replaced despite Sophia's pleading. Her dolls stand in a tub in the corner of the room, packed away as the new craze of music started to infiltrate through with posters not allowed on the walls and small stack of CDs Sophia had started to accumulate. A bookshelf attached to the wall showed the slow move from fairy books to a maturing interest in fiction—fantasy and emerging teenage dramas.

Carol's face is wet from streaming tears when Merle steps in and finds her in a collapsed state on Sophia's floor, her body sobbing into the fluffy pink rug, her fingers desperately clawing at its fibres. Grief pours from her, waves and waves of it that she's held back far too long, and she feels so guilty. Her child is gone—lost and consumed by death only to walk along with it until she was captured and killed for the second time. The fate of Sophia was so cruel, so unmerciful that it breaks off a part of her heart that Carol doesn't think she'll ever be able to recover.

Despite her all-encompassing pain, she feels Merle's arms surround her as he scoops her up. They are strong, giving her comfort when she needs it most and she buries her face into his chest and clings to him like her life depends on it. He seems to realise she can't leave this room yet, can't let Sophia go as her guilt ties her to this spot. Binds her to this moment. She's sweating from the exhaustion of her tears and they don't stop, building higher and being wrenched from somewhere inside her she hardly ever recognised before. So many scenes flash through her mind—a glimpse of terrified eyes as Sophia runs and hides in her room, in her closet, in the bathroom, but every time Ed has struck out blindly at Carol, the first thing and only thing she sees before that hit connects with her body is the horror her daughter knows is coming, expressed in her beautiful blue eyes that always brim with tears for her mother. It's only when Sophia has gone, found somewhere safe to hide that Carol finally feels the impact of Ed's fists.

The agony of those blows rush through her again as she sits curled tight within Merle's embrace and he's rocking her, kissing her temple as her vocal chords crack with animalistic, ragged, damaged wails. She's reliving the fear, the panic, the overwhelming rage that she's never allowed herself to release at Ed's ability to smother her will with punches. That he'd kept her broken for too long and she's lost her only chance to make things right for her little girl. And now, as she sits in Sophia's room, her child's essence swirling around her endlessly and so fast it's making her head spin, the thought of another child fractures the memories apart. Splinters it all to pieces until she's almost vibrating with the destruction, trembling as if chilled to the core.

Slowly, slowly she's conscious of Merle's hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, his rough voice whispering stories to her, telling her about his childhood, Daryl's, the beast of a father that brutalised them both and the mother that never gave a shit as long as she had plenty of booze and cigarettes to drown out the terrified screams of her sons. He's telling her that she was a good mother to her child, protected her the best way she could and that not all men can be left, that Ed was one that would have hunted her down and likely killed her if she'd ever tried.

She is decidedly emotionally spent as her body goes limp and she draws in rasping breaths against Merle's chest. Her head feels thick, blank and it aches as if Ed's slammed it into the kitchen counter—right after his fist has found her gut. Only, Ed isn't here and it's only the memories that she's allowing to cripple her now.

Gradually she comes back to herself and as tired as she is, as worn and destroyed as her heart is, Carol can admit one fundamental thing to herself. She'd needed this return. She'd needed to sit in her daughter's bedroom and find the parts of Sophia that had been lost in their terror-filled run from death. She'd needed to grieve for the daughter that she'd known for twelve years, not the one that had changed and clung and run from that lonely road with walkers at her back. She'd needed twelve years of memories to slam her against the wall and help her tear it down. It's something Daryl would never have allowed and, as Merle scoops her up and takes her to own room, laying her out on her bed, she's so grateful to him for seeing something that Daryl would never have allowed himself to. Before he's pulled away, her palm curves around his neck and she takes an unsteady breath and kisses him. It's just a quick brush of her lips against his, but it's enough to burn her and exhaust her anew.

"Thank you."

"Weren't no trouble," he says, penetrating eyes confused. "Gonna go pull the truck 'round back and load up as much as I can. Found about twenty cans of fuel in your shed. Was Ed plannin' on blowin' somethin' up?" He looks almost impressed at the prospect and a short, hoarse laugh escapes her throat.

"Ed always liked bein' prepared."

"That surely worked out well for 'im, then," says Merle, humour tainting the words and Carol sees how little he cares that the other man is dead. He turns serious in the blink of an eye. "We're stayin' here tonight. You get some rest and I'll see to that massive stack of cans you got stored out there. Bound to be somethin' edible."

"There should be a can of gas and a spare camp stove out there, too. That's if you find anythin' worth heating up."

He nods and walks out, and before she hears his footsteps echo down the hall, her eyes have closed and she sleeps.


	13. Chapter 13

AN… I have been very bad and am slightly behind with replying to you wonderful reviewers. I still hope to reply tonight if I can!

Part Thirteen

Dinner has to wait for Carol to get out of bed. No matter how he tries, and by fuck Merle tries hard, there's no getting around the fact he needs two hands and most of his fingers to wield a can opener. He'd have been fine if the electric one worked, and while he'd found Ed's fancy generator out back, his first test of it revealed it to be a noisy bastard and he'd killed it immediately, ending all chance of preparing dinner.

The truck was loaded up with everything he could find in the attic that looked like it might be useful for a baby and the bags and things Carol had already put aside to take from the house. He felt nervous about leaving it all out there, just waiting for some asshole to come along and steal it while they slept locked away inside the house, but he believed in being prepared, and that meant being ready to leave in a split second in case they woke to walkers everywhere.

Now, all he has left to do is wait. He'd contemplated getting shit-faced on Ed's pretty impressive collection of booze, but for the first time in his life, he's weighed up the potential danger and the lives he held in his three fingered hand, and came up wanting to stay sober. He wasn't sure who for—his first thought had been for his child. His second thought had been for his brother and his last, his final thought had been for Carol herself, and the realisation was like a punch to the face. Understanding exploded, the shrapnel of his epiphany leaving him shaking and winded.

The farmer talked about love like it was something Merle would understand better than Daryl, but the old man had been dead wrong. There was nothing about love that had touched Merle's life, and maybe that was the very thing that was wrong with him. It wasn't in his nature to put a woman first, unless he was about to fuck her, and even then the thought was a stretch. He was sure as shit he was too old to start now, no matter what he'd thought he wanted. Carol was a catch, no doubting that, but did he want to catch her? Did he want her in his bed for the rest of their days? The quick answer was…maybe. And Carol deserved more than a maybe, especially when Daryl was in it for the long haul, no questions about it.

Officer Friendly had asked him if he knew why he did the things he did, and Merle doesn't. His life is made up of need—he needs food, he eats. He needs booze, he drinks. He needs to let off some steam, he finds something to make the outside world slide away so that he doesn't have to see it anymore. If his dick twitches, he finds a pussy to scratch it. Finer emotions had always been a mystery to him—fight, fuck, sleep, repeat as needed. He'd spent his years falling into one form of escape or another and he'd never once been forced to make a choice. Until now.

Carol looks wrecked as she slowly wanders into the living room where he's been waiting and he hears her belly rumbling before she's even pushed through the doorway. Good, his own has been growling like a bitch for hours. He's upright in a blink, thrusting the cans at her and the opener, frowning until she heads to the kitchen and places it all on the counter, methodically removing the lids and handing the cans back to him. He snatches them back and goes about preparing the meal on the gas burner, suddenly not liking her watchful gaze settling on him.

The silence seems to leach the room of air and he's struggling to keep focused on his task, but he does nothing to break it until the bowl of an appetising-looking stew is dished up with a fork sticking out of a cube of unidentifiable meat, steamed heat billowing up into Carol's face. They eat, and he keeps his attention on the bowl, shovelling his food down and not caring about the burn on his tongue. He hates being famished, hates having to wait for other people to help him with shit, and fucking hates being useless with his emotions—fucking hates having none most of the time.

"What's wrong?"

Her voice cracks the atmosphere in the room like a gun blast and Merle rocks back on his heels. He should have known that she'd refuse to let it lie, let him break apart in his own peaceful way. He feels like growling, knowing that decisions are being made in his brain—ones that he's not altogether happy with but, for the first time, knowing it's right. His left hand dives into his pants pocket, fingering the white stick he's not hardly been able to let go of since he'd plucked it off the prison bathroom floor. He'd hoped that their one and only tryst would result in a kid, but now that the reality is here, he's confused and quite possibly terrified, and fear is something Merle has been chasing away his whole damned life.

He throws the stick on the counter between them, and for the first time since she's risen from her sleep, he looks her in the eye. She gasps, and then looks terrified of him. He doesn't like that, thinks if nothing else they've at least become friends.

"Don't need to look so damn scared. I ain't gonna hurt ya." He's satisfied when she sucks in a shaky breath and nods, a small smile shifting some of the pain of earlier away.

"I know," she says and damned if she doesn't reach across and take his hand. Only once they touch does Merle realise he's shaking.

"My baby brother know?"

She nods and there are tears in her eyes, and misery seems to be taking up space there again.

"That why he run?"

She nods again and he curses. "Fuckin' little pussy. What's he think runnin's gonna prove?"

Carol laughs, though it's only a short sound and barely fills the corners of the kitchen.

"He…didn't take it well."

He can see by the slump of her shoulders and the way her gaze shifts from his that what she's said is an understatement. She's trying to pull her dainty hand from his meaty paw and he holds on harder, trying to make his racing thoughts slow down so he can at least try and catch up.

"Don' be so hard on him. Our Daddy didn' teach us much, but we did learn how to run from pain. He'll be back, tail 'tween his legs, beggin' ya to forgive him, the little coward."

Another laugh and Merle admits he likes the way it splices the air around him, making this little space of theirs a more pleasant place to be.

"I know," she says, surprisingly confident. "He loves me. Daryl doesn't leave those he loves behind. He might run, but he'll come back. I know it."

Merle anticipates the sucker punch, waiting for it to at least wind him at the revelation, but it doesn't come.

"Shit," he drawls. "I been all het up over nothin'."

"Excuse me?" Her face is twisted up in confusion and Merle snorts.

"I been spendin' my time plannin' how to turn that prison into a little house with a white picket fence. Tearin' up my insides on how to fight my baby brother for somethin' we both wanted when I got no right to want it in the first place. You're his woman, I knew it firs' time I laid eyes on you an' him together. Hershel must need glasses if he thinks you two only care about each other as friends. Hell, I ain't never seen a pair more in love than the two of you."

"Hershel doesn't think Daryl an' I love each other?" The confusion seems to have grown deeper and Merle chuckles.

"Think the old man's taken a shine to me," Merle confides with a wink. "Prolly thinks we're the same—both lost a limb thanks to Officer Friendly, both substance abusers, abused by our daddies…"

Carol is speechless, he can tell. Not sure if he's just revealed some of Hershel's secrets but at this point he doesn't really give a shit. Stupid old man had put ideas in his head, made him want things that he knows now he's got no right in wanting. Has no energy to want it, either.

"That baby in there," he says, pointing at her still flat belly. "I'm not the kinda man who can be a good daddy for it, as much as I might wanna try to be. I'll be there for 'im, but that feelin' you have for Sophia, I don't have that in me. Daryl does, but I don't. It burned outa me long ago. Ain't no way to put it back."

"I don't believe that, Merle." She leans forward, tightening her fist around his fingers. "You're loyal to Daryl—to your family. You'll be loyal to this child, too."

"That maybe true," Merle says, feeling that it's more than possible, and it's something he's hoping can be, but he knows as far as Carol goes, she's better off without him muddying up her life. "I ain't likely to be loyal to you." The truth seems to wound her and she lets go of his hand, her body leaning back in her chair at the counter.

"You sure don't pull your punches, do you?" She laughs nervously, her eyes downcast as she rubs at her neck.

"Darlin', if I thought I could take you on, be faithful, _love you _like you deserve, I'd shove Daryl in a ditch first chance I got an' run away with ya. Only, my kid's in your body and I gotta be truthful to myself. I gotta respect my brother first, hell knows I ain't done enough o' that in the past."

"Wow, that's…thank you. I thought I'd have to be fending off your drunken advances all night," Carol jokes, and it's so close to how he'd originally hoped the night would progress that he huffs out a genuine laugh.

"Don' get me wrong, you're sexy as hell. Anythin' happens to Daryl, you jus' give me a holler and I'll devote myself to makin' you feel good in _all _the right places." Greedy eyes crawl over her body, resting longer than necessary at her tits and wishing he could see past the table top. He wonders if seeing her belly grow will make him change his mind, or if living with her and Daryl will slowly drive him insane with want of things he can never let himself have.

"You're not exactly repulsive yourself, Merle." Carol giggles and he's enchanted, and close to kicking himself for being in such a generous mood and handing her ass over to Daryl.

"I'm a damn fine specimen of man, darlin'. You'll be cryin' all the way back home that you're not gonna get another piece o' me." He's not joking as much as his tone would imply; he doesn't feel done by half of havin' pieces of her, lust for her making his blood roar and his cock ache. But, it was one thing to take her before Daryl had ever declared any kind of feeling for her, but now that he had, he's sure it would be the wedge between them that his little brother would never forgive.

"I'll try not to let it break my heart." She's more relaxed now, though she still looks exhausted and he realises this trip to her house has been emotionally devastating. The possibility had never crossed his mind, but he's willing to bet Daryl would never have allowed her to come here. His brother is soft, likes to hide from pain as much as Merle does, but generally by getting angry at it whereas Merle likes to fly away on a buzz.

"Hershell mentioned your girl. Said she was in his barn."

He should have kept his mouth shut but this was a part of the group's history that Daryl had refused to discuss with him. He wants to know why.

"We were overrun with a herd on the Interstate," she answers hesitantly. "We hid under cars but there were a couple left after the herd went through, and one noticed Sophia. She ran into the woods." She seems lost in the memory, and he feels pain watching her relive it, wishes he knew when to keep his damn mouth shut. "Daryl searched for her for days—he almost died." She looks up and is smiling. "He said you appeared to him and told him to get up before you kicked his teeth in. You probably saved his life that day. Walkers were gnawing on his boots. I saw the teeth marks."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Merle says with a wink, feeling pretty puffed up and invincible that his baby brother might visualise him when he was about to leave this world.

"I could never understand why he searched so hard for her. He didn't owe the group anything—he didn't owe _me_ anything. I don't think he even liked Sophia."

Merle snorted. "That's easy. He was always volunteerin' to look for kids lost in the mountains back home. Somethin' about him goin' missing when he was a kid and no one even missin' him. I'da looked if I wasn't in juvie at the time." A dark look crosses his face at the memories but he banks it away for a day when he's on his own. He doesn't need to burden Carol with a brutal past that has shaped both brothers to be hardasses desperate to protect themselves from the world in whichever way they can. "'Sides, Daryl's always liked kids. Big ol' softie at heart."

He likes how much pleasure she gets from his words—how much reassurance. He knows Daryl would be better at raising his kid than Merle would be, and maybe between the three of them they'll raise one impressive little sonovabitch. He'll be strong, take no prisoners, hunt like a master, but he'd thrive, know how to love others like they'd love him. He hasn't even considered the possibility the child could be a girl.

"Tomorrow we'll go check out that baby store in town. If there's not too many biters around, we'll clean it out and head back to the prison. Who knows? Maybe that baby brother of mine will have located his balls and returned. Might even be missin' us right now." Merle grins so wide all his teeth are showing. "Might be whittlin' a special arrow to shoot straight into my ass for takin' you out overnight." He winks at her and then almost swallows his tongue in shock as she's up and around the kitchen counter, throwing herself into his arms before he can take his next breath.

"Thank you," she says for the second time that day and he's done keeping score. "You could have made this really difficult for me. I…don't have a lot of resistance to your charms," she admits and he can tell it's a huge leap in trust for her to reveal it to him, and he holds her a little tighter because of it, hiding his face against her neck. He doesn't have a lot of resistance to hers, either.

"Don' ever hurt 'im," he orders, his voice hoarse as it hits him what he's letting go. "That boy deserves to be happy."

"I won't," she whispers and he places a kiss against the vein that is throbbing in her throat, feeling the attraction lick slowly through his veins. Unable to resist touching her one last time, his hand sweeps over her ribs to pinch her nipple and as she gasps, he catches her lips in one last kiss. The tenderness of it blanks his mind, screams at him that he's making a mistake. That she's returning it instead of slapping his face emboldens hope, but then she's breaking their connection, sucking his bottom lip one last, lingering time before she's far away, too far to touch, smiling sadly. "Goodnight, Merle."

He watches every step until his last chance has retired to her bedroom and left him alone.

**AN… Gahhhhhh! So, I have flipped back and forth on this story so much it's ridiculous. I anticipate one more chapter, possibly two. Hoping I haven't disappointed anyone too much, and truly, once this is done I have a true Marol idea I will be exploring to its fullest potential. I'm making that a promise! So, I'd appreciate feedback. I kind of liked this chapter ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

Part Fourteen

Daryl stops as the prison comes into view. He rolls his shoulders, stretches his neck from side to side, and grunts out his pain as everything seems to pop and grind at once. Fuck he hurts, and he knows it's all his own damn fault. His blood easily draws the attention of those walkers who never seem to wander away from the fence, and with nothing but pure will-power, he slams through his exhaustion and buries his hunting blade through skull after skull as they head into his blurry vision. Thankfully he doesn't sense any rank stench or moaning behind him because the one sudden twist he does to check just about has him coming undone.

Rick is on watch and is at the gate to let him in before Daryl stumbles to his knees.

"You've been gone a while," Rick says, half dragging him inside the fence and leaving him slumped against the wire while he rolls the gate shut and fastens it.

"Herd," Daryl answers and knows it's enough of an explanation that Rick won't press for anymore. Together they walk up to their cell block and it's the first time Daryl has felt relief to be there. The first time he's really accepted it as his home—because this isn't just the four walls that house his things. This is the place where Carol is. She's inside now, breathing, waiting and he's desperate to see her and hold her and apologise for being such a pussy.

He's reassured by her gasp as she sees him stumbling down the steps and she's beside him in seconds. Without talking his arm swings around her shoulders and she's guiding him through their makeshift dining/meeting room and taking him up to his cell, asking Beth to bring up a basin of water and some cloths. He grins, feeling almost giddy that he's back, that he's touching her even though he can barely feel a thing against the searing pain of his ribs and the deep scratch he knows is high on his cheekbone.

"Three days," he says as his head drops to toward hers, his lips pressing against her temple. "Missed you." He's feeling light-headed and he knows that every so often his feet forget to take a step and Carol is scrambling to keep him upright. His body is excessively warm, just from having her close and hoping that they are heading toward grand revelations that will finally be enough to never tear them apart.

"Holy shit, brother. The hell happened to you?"

Daryl stops, refusing to let his feet keep moving as he stares at Merle, pain and dehydration making him half dizzy, frustration taking care of the other half.

"Screw you, bro. Like to see you hole up in a tree for days with twenty walkers snapping at your ass."

Merle raises his brow, impressed. "Serves you right for bein' a pussy in the first place," he says, slapping Daryl on the back and almost sending him sprawling to the floor. He pauses as he reaches the stairs to the lower level, his eyes narrowed speculatively. "How'd you get away, anyway?"

Daryl twists painfully, still gasping from the jolt of his brother's hand on him. "Damn deer. Followed that thing for miles an' then it just runs right across them. No dinner tonight but hey, I'm alive."

"So how did you get hurt then?" Carol asks, confused.

He sighs as his cheeks flame and he ducks his head to peer at the floor, wishing for all the earth he didn't have to admit the embarrassing truth. "Fell out."

He can hear Merle's laughter echo around the prison and he shakes his head, then chuckles at himself.

"You must have climbed up there pretty high," Carol muses, making him out to be more heroic than he actually is, and he just nods because his ribs and the burn of his new scars in the making are confirmation enough of that fact.

"Don't recommend it if you gotta get some sleep." His throat feels raw and he's grateful when they get to his room and Beth is there with a basin of water to clean him up with. She sets it on the chair and leaves and he's straight away cupping up handfuls and drinking like he's about to die of thirst.

"Hey, leave some so I can wash you up," Carol laughs, and he feels gratitude settle on him as light as a cloud. It's now or never, he decides. He'd done little else but think, trapped in that tree, and three things occurred to him. He wasn't ever leaving Carol, he wasn't leaving her baby, and he wasn't leaving Merle, but most of all, he wasn't going to act like such a coward again, running away because he was too afraid of his own damn feelings and what happiness trusting in someone could bring him.

"You know how I tell you all the time you're a wiseass?" He watches her and almost laughs as she braces herself against the floor, both hands on her hips with mock irritation as she shoots him a highly convincing glare. "Well, I weren't lyin'."

"Everyone's a comedian," she mocks, relaxes, a grin making her blue eyes look soft and inviting. "I might be a wiseass but you're a smartass. Now sit so I can get this done." Her hand is on his shoulder, pushing him gently back until his ass hits the thin mattress and his air leaves him in a protracted hiss that has her brows raised in concern. "Did you break somethin'?"

"Pfffft. Never had a broken bone an' I ain't gonna start now."

She looks incredulous. "You've never had a broken bone? You? You're a boy. How is that even possible?"

"Yeah, bein' related to Merle shoulda guaranteed me a few. Lucky me, I guess."

The wet cloth starts on his cheekbone and her touch is so gentle he barely whimpers. He can't keep from her gaze, though, and finds his blood warming as they keep it steady, peering inside each other until her hands are shaking and he is back on that bridge when he's finally found out how it feels to taste her lips.

"I'm goin' to fight for you," he says softly into the silence in the room, finding courage in her sharply indrawn breath and watery smile.

Without breaking contact with his eyes, she reaches back and drops the bloodied cloth back into the water and then cups his cheek in the palm of her hand.

"Daryl, there's no fight needed. I already told you I love you. You're stuck with me." She's smiling though the tears in her eyes make him feel like all sorts of a fucked up tragedy. It should all be so simple; she's _making _it simple even though there are such mountains for them to climb. His brother, the baby, this world.

Before he can make his denial—admit that he knows Merle wants her and will want her even more once he knows he's going to be a daddy, if he doesn't already—she's closed the space between them, stepped between his knees and linked her hands around his neck. His hands are shaking as he spreads his palms across her hips, clasping around her flesh with a desperate grip.

"I'm no boy," spills petulantly past his lips, suddenly desperate that she should get that thought right out of her head.

She slips closer, straddling him on the bed and she's closer than he's ever felt her before, even when she's snuggled up behind him on his bike. He's swelling against her and she's pushing down, rubbing gently against him until he's whimpering worse than a baby.

"Hmmm, I can tell. You plannin' on provin' it to me soon?" Her hands ghost over his ribs and in his fanciful state, he imagines he's better already, definitely too high on adrenaline and desire to be feeling any remnants of pain.

"Real soon," rumbles past his lips and he bites his bottom lip against the yearning to twist their bodies fully onto the bunk and start ripping her clothes off. A commotion downstairs breaks through the sensual fog that surrounds them, though, and he reluctantly pushes her up and away. Before he's ushered her out of the room, however, she quickly snags his shirt and lifts it to inspect his ribs. There is already a dark blue-black bruise spreading across his flesh and she looks back at him, concerned. "Its fine," he stresses, his hand covering hers as he gently pulls it away. He kisses her fingers though wishes he could feel her warm lips against his ribs, promising himself that he would, he will just have to wait until later.

"We should go see what's going on," Carol whispers, and he nods though every part of him wants to stay hidden up in his room. "Kiss me first," she demands.

He grins at her unexpected sassiness and complies.

Andrea is downstairs. Her eyes are huge as Carol descends the stairs beside Daryl and at once Carol is on guard. The last time she's seen her friend is when she'd advised her to end the Governor after what should have been his last night of passion. It should have come as no surprise to the blonde that Carol would be willing to do exactly what she'd advised, though in the long run she's glad it's Merle she's had to have sex with before the end event, rather than the Governor himself. Trying to distract herself from the possible confrontation, she wonders how Andrea was able to sleep with a man that kept heads in fish tanks as trophies, his walker daughter on a leash and pitted two brothers against each other to the death. She can't hold back her shudder at the thought.

It's a surprise when Andrea rushes forward and envelops Carol in the most enthusiastic of hugs.

"Oh my God, Carol! I can't believe you and Merle killed Phillip. Rick's just told me what happened. No one at Woodbury knows anything, just that he's dead." There are tears in the blonde's eyes but the way she's hugged her, Carol reasons with herself that Andrea must be relieved rather than angry.

"Are you mad?" Carol can't keep the worry from her voice as she asks, just to be certain, but at once Daryl is there, his hand on her hip as he stands behind her, giving her strength and reminding her that it doesn't matter how Andrea feels, because she and Merle have given them the one thing they all needed—a chance to survive. A chance to live.

"No." Andrea has tears in her eyes, making them appear like they are glistening like stars. Her hands reach out for Carol's, holding them and squeezing tight enough to reassure without inflicting pain. "You did what I couldn't. I know it had to happen. Phillip had become dangerous."

Merle snorts in the background. "Man was _always _dangerous, sugartits. You just didn't want to see it."

She rounds on Merle and takes a menacing step toward him, stopping suddenly as if realising that nothing she could do to him would have any effect.

"I _asked_ you," she hisses, and Carol feels a little sympathy for Merle. "I asked you if he was a good man and you told me—"

"I told you what you needed to know. I said he'd picked me up off the side of the road and saved my ass, so of course he was a good man. Hell, you're the lawyer, Blondie. Ain't you supposed to be able to read between the lines? I'm hardly gonna go shootin' my disloyal mouth off right in front of the damn gates."

Carol can see it's difficult for her, but Andrea nods, conceding that in this she's been wrong every step of the way. Her friend takes a deep breath, steeling herself against something momentous, and then she's staring straight at Merle, intent in every straight line of her body.

"I've come to ask you to return to Woodbury."

The silence between the group is stifling, and Carol is about to burst into an awkward laugh, thinking Andrea must be losing it to ask Merle such a thing.

"Why?" Merle has stepped forward, aiming the question at Andrea but is watching Carol carefully.

She can see his interest, though, and doesn't know whether to feel relieved that he might leave them and give them all space between each other, or panicked that he's removing himself from his child's life.

"Because you're a take charge kind of guy and I think can really benefit from that. I know you're an asshole most of the time, but you'll do right by us. And—" Andrea takes a deep breath, and then she pins him hard look with her lawyer-like gaze. "It would be good to have a friend to help me lead."

The expression on Merle's face is priceless and Carol stifles a snort of laughter with an indelicate cough. Daryl leans forward, unseen by the others, and quickly kisses a smile into the skin of her shoulder.

"What, you the Queen Bee now? Well ain't that the shit," Merle drawls, his teeth flashing as he takes another step toward Andrea, but she crosses her arms and just puts up with Merle's attempts at intimidation with a wry smile, obviously amused at his posturing. "You gonna start your own collection of heads in fish tanks?"

"I can always start with yours," she says with a wink and Merle hoots with laughter.

"Not sure I ever had a better offer, Blondie. What's the pay like?" Merle is stepping around the blonde, sizing her up and Carol can't quite help feel a little jealous that his interest in her was so short-lived, though the presence of Daryl behind her, his hand pressing into the small of her back quickly distracts her and she knows, in the long run, it doesn't matter. She has everything she wants right here and her ego can live with the small dent.

"Hold up, Merle." Daryl steps forward though he hasn't removed his touch. "Those sonsabitches was screamin' for our blood not so long ago." Carol almost cries at the look of betrayal Daryl can't quite keep off his face and Merle's playful flirting with Andrea comes to a sudden end.

"They know the truth about Phillip," Andrea reveals, walking up to Daryl and placing her hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently before releasing. "Milton came forward and told them what happened, why things had to go the way they did. They used to respect Merle. He can have that again."

"He has respect here," Daryl claims stubbornly and Merle himself snorts at this invention of the truth.

"You an' I both know that's a stretch, baby brother." Merle isn't as unaffected by the situation as he's tried to show, Carol realises, finally noticing the emotion that makes his lips whiten and the rapid blinking of his eyes. "This'll be for the best. For all of us. Hell, I'll come visit, an' you an' yours are always welcome."

No matter how he justifies it, Carol shrivels inside a little at the thought of his going. It hurts that they've woven this tapestry of pain so tight that the threads are snapping right before their eyes. The three of them are family, with another on the way to bind them closer together, but even as she wants to cling to Merle and beg him to stay, she completely understands his need to go.

Carol reaches his side without realising she's moved, and even as she's reaching for him, he's swept her up into a huge hug, his face buried against her neck as he pulls in deep, uneven gulps of air. "I ain't walkin' away," he breaths into her hair. "Jus' givin' us all some space. I won' leave ya'll with this baby and no pappy. I promise."

Carol's nod is jerky and full of sadness, her face wet and accepting.

Daryl is behind her again, his arm around her protectively as he slowly pulls her out of Merle's embrace. The brothers share a warm look, full of love, respect and admiration, understanding, and then the decision is made. Merle is going back to Woodbury to help Andrea run the town the way it should have been done in the first place, and they are at last allies.

As the day winds down, Carol brings a plate of food to Daryl. He has been quietly resting in his room to help his battered ribs recover, dealing with this new, voluntary separation from Merle. Michonne, surprisingly, had chosen to stay, and Carol is still tossing that new development around in her brain. She's surprised, but not unhappy about it, and so by the time she reaches Daryl's cell, she's smiling.

"Hey," she says, greeting him and feeling suddenly shy.

Wincing against the pain of his ribs, Daryl stands, takes the plate from her and puts it safely on the top bunk. He drags her across the extra feet between them until her body melds against his and buries his face into her shoulder, his breath shallow against her flesh. She threads her fingers through his hair, holding on and absorbing all the pain that losing his brother once again has hit him with.

"God, I am so sick of him runnin' away," Daryl mumbles and she feels the coldness of it in his lips and hates it.

"Daryl, this is a good thing for him. He'll do right by those people and I know you can't see it yet, but he's doing right by us, too. He's going because he loves you."

"No," Daryl disagrees, pulling back from her. He recovers his abandoned dinner to sit on his bed and starts putting it away as gingerly as excessively bruised ribs allow. "He's goin' because he loves you an' he thinks he's bein' all loyal and shit by not fighting me for you."

She could get mad at how he's talking about her like she's some slab of meat they can settle a winner for just by hashing it out with their fists, but she's strangely flattered that he feels that strongly about her that he's willing to go to those lengths. But he's dead wrong, and she can't let him continue thinking that. Can't let him squander away their time together thinking he's won her merely by default. Can't let him think that it even has anything to do with Merle when it's how she feels and how Daryl feels right now that matters.

"You're wrong," she says softly, sitting on the edge of his bed beside him. She wants to curl up into him, rest her head upon his shoulder and spend the night as close to him as she's dreamed of being for far too long. "Merle doesn't love me. He's not giving me up so he can do right by you. He's doing right by you because he loves _you, _you dope."

A spark or anger flares behind the molten blue fire of his eyes and Carol takes in a shocked breath, arousal catapulting through her body to settle in places she needs to ignore for now.

"You're the one that's wrong," he accuses petulantly and Carol giggles, kissing his cheek. He cracks a very small grin and her heart beats harder. All these glimpses of him relaxing with her is what she needs, what she's been aiming for the long months they've spent together surviving, changing, loving.

"Merle doesn't know how to love," Carol reveals sadly, knowing deep down it's true. That man is so wounded deep down that she's not sure he's ever going to recover the place that allows a person to burrow that deep in his heart. "Not like you do."

Time seems to slow as his hooded, vulnerable gaze meets hers and Carol smiles warmly, taking his plate from him to dump blindly on the floor before his lips have found hers and he angles her to the bed. He's forced to roll to the side, however, moaning in agony as his ribs seem to erupt in pain.

"Okay, fine," he concedes, pulling her against his uninjured side. "But as soon as I don't feel like screaming like a girl every time I move, I'm gonna prove it to you, like you asked."

"Oh, Daryl," she sighs breathlessly. "You're provin' it right now."

**AN…. **So, I am deeply aware that this chapter is…well…I'm not sure how to describe the complete lack of…you know what I mean ;) Me thinks there might be an Epilogue in the near future.


	15. Epilogue

AN: Okay, so this is it. No revisiting Merle or Andrea, just a quiet moment of completion for out Caryl-lovers out there. I find I completely suck at real smut these days, so again, hope it's sweet enough to make ya'll happy without making you cringe! I find I'm a terrible judge of these things lately.

LL- Whoot! Thank you. Im sure it isn't perfect but I appreciate the compliment.

Patriciaz: I have no idea what you said but I'm going to pretend it was something nice

Epilogue

"You're a romantic, Daryl Dixon."

Carol bumps shoulders with him as she looks around at the field, scattered with delicate yellow and white wildflowers, and then lies back on the red and navy check blanket they'd brought with them from the prison. Daryl's bike stands not too far away should they need to leave in a hurry, but the peace that surrounds them makes it easy to forget about walkers and running for their lives.

"Shut up," he orders her while popping another wild berry into her open mouth, following it with a kiss that is really just his attempt to steal the sweet juice from her lips. Kisses are easy between them now, so much so that Daryl isn't even hesitant to brush his lips briefly against hers if the others happen to be around when he's about to leave her for a run. The rest has taken time to develop, the reality of Merle standing right in the middle of them taking some time to find its rightful place so they can dismiss it and concentrate on each other.

"Hey, don't take it out on me that you like to sweeten up a girl. Not like I'm complainin' about it. I think it's cute."

He mock glares at her and Carol giggles, wriggling closer to him and sighing happily when his hand settles against her slightly protruding belly.

"Ain't cute," he growls and Carol swoons the harder, finding that tone in his voice to be just the right level of rough to make her weak in the knees. She thinks she's very fortunate to already be lying down.

"Is too," she disagrees, catching his hand as he's about to feed her some more berries, bringing his fingers and the fruit to her lips. She sucks them and his fingers into her mouth and almost crows with success when she feels him tighten against her thigh.

"Boy's are cute. I'm not a boy." He looks thoroughly insulted, even though he can't tear his heated gaze from her mouth.

"Hmmm, you keep saying that but I mustn't be gettin' the memo."

His hips jerk against her thigh, proving to her how hard he is with almost bruising ability.

"What, you're expectin' me to write you love letters an' shit, too?"

"Daryl!" She slaps at his chest, all pretend outrage before her fingers trace the line of his shirt buttons until she hits the top clasp of his jeans. "I'm totally fine with pictures."

"Woman, you tryin' to seduce me with that sassy mouth of yours?" He's panting against her neck as soon as she snaps open the button and slides the zipper down, her fingers immediately finding the silkiness of his length, her own breaths quickening as she feels his tongue and teeth teasing the skin beneath her ear.

"Maybe. Is it working?"

Her forwardness sparks something within him and finally his hands have forgotten the berries in favour of tentatively exploring under her clothes. The pads of his fingers are rough, and combined with the gentleness of his touch, the path they trace leaves a blazing heat that accumulates low in her belly. His mouth nibbles at the flesh of her neck, across her jaw until he catches her in a hesitant glance before descending to capture her lips. His tongue and teeth tease her lower lip, sucking on it until she's writhing on the blanket to get closer, her mouth falling open to entice him further in, to swirl his tongue against hers and expertly driving her to flashing arousal. They've practised kissing to perfection and she's glad that he knows it. That he believes her body when she melts the second his lips find hers.

It feels like she's been waiting for him to touch her for a lifetime. It's only been a year and a half since they first met but the intensity of that time makes it seem so much longer. He pulls away and she tries to hide her flush of disappointment, reaching a point where she's afraid they'll never get to the place she wants so bad to be. He ducks his eyes and she feels guilt settle in her gut, her arms encircling him immediately as she pulls him face first to encounter her swelling breasts.

"You know I do want this, don'tcha?" He sounds so small, so vulnerable that Carol wants to cry for the suffering in his past that makes him so afraid of becoming involved in an intimacy that will entirely hand over his heart. Afraid to let the last wall drop and allow her to clamber over it straight into his arms.

"Yes." She does know it, and she knows he's insecure because no matter how he goes about it, Merle's baby is between them, an obstacle that proves to him that while he's having difficulty shutting out the protection he's upheld around himself for a lifetime, she hasn't. She's shared her body first with an abusive husband, and then with his brother, and she knows that in some dark corner of his head, to Daryl that means she's never going to really be happy with him. Never really choose him. That sex is something she considers easily given away while for him it's a struggle.

"Daryl?" She waits until he pulls himself away from her body, propped up on his elbow, and as if he can hear the underlying sincerity in her voice, he's staring straight into her, though she can tell it's a huge effort on his part as his body seems ready to spring into retreat and his eyes are twitching, ready to dart away and look at anything but her. "If anything were to happen to you…if this didn't work and…" She takes a deep breath, feeling so much pain reverberate through her at the possibility of either of those options but knowing that without him, she'd be alone forever. Tears seem to have formed out of nowhere in response to this torturous moment and Carol struggles to blink them back, not wanting to be dissuaded from what she needs to say. From what she needs Daryl to hear and understand. "There won't be anyone else. Do you understand that? Even if we don't do this—if you can't ever bring yourself to let go fully, I'm not going to turn my back on you or go to someone else. It's not something I have to get from anyone just to satisfy a need. Sex can be beautiful between two people that love each other, and that's why I want it with you. I want to share every emotion with you. I want to be inside you as much as I want you inside me, physically and emotionally, and whatever it is you fear, that could never, _would _never happen with anyone else. Not now that I know you love me."

She is encouraged by the slow turn up of his lips, the building confidence that turns it into a smirk she's well familiar with.

"You want me inside you, huh?" His hand has grown bold and his fingers have spread over her crotch, rubbing against the seam of her pants and hitting the nub beneath that is now thanking her for having 'the talk'.

"Oh yeah," she moans in reply, curling her hand around his neck as she sits up. "As deep as you can go."

His fears seem completely forgotten as he attacks her mouth and Carol is so grateful she drags him completely on top of her body, her mouth fusing to his in a caress as passionate as she's ever known. It seems ludicrous that she could have knocked down this barrier with so few words, even if they'd been coloured with every shade of her heart.

He's grinding down into the V of her legs, his hands fisting into the bottom of her top as he drags it up, breaking their kiss only long enough to yank it over her head.

"Am I hurtin' the baby?" His voice is husky as his mouth moves from her lips to kiss a line above the cup of her bra.

"What baby?" She sounds whiny, petulant and impatient and he chuckles before yanking the bra cup down and drawing her nipple into his mouth, sucking on it so hard it causes a sharp pain to spear through her and set up off a line of sparks straight to her core.

The months of built up need and desperation seem to take over and as Carol succumbs to a sensory overload, she finds herself half-stripped naked and poised over Daryl, who is kneeling at the junction of her thighs. In the end it takes hardly any effort, his fingers lost in the curls at the back of her head, his lips sucking the breath from her mouth, and then he's almost thoughtless when he pushes past the final boundary and she feels him, hard and long and filling her to the very depths.

His groan into her mouth elicits pleasured sighs, and when he draws back to observe her there is something different in his eyes; an expression of awe at the newness of his exploration and it takes over his entire face. He moves, to solidify his position and they shudder against each other, hands gently exploring flesh, eyes never straying from each other. Carol's fingertips slowly draw a line from his hairline to the scruff on his chin and her body tingles with more awareness than she's felt in her entire life. He seems ready for more and so she moves her hips, slowly drawing them up his length, feeling him slick against her moisture as she slides him out and then dramatically falls back down, the plunge of his cock the sweetest agony and is, she decides, well worth the wait.

She squeezes her muscles around him and his mouth drops open in shock, a strangled, "Huh," falling from his lips. "Hell, woman. If ya told me you could do shit like that, I'da given in long ago."

She was losing focus, the sensation of him rolling and withdrawing and surging within her causing ragged breath to tear at her lungs. "Baby, if I'd ever had great sex before and tried that, I'd have been sure to let you know. Now, shut up."

He laughs, and it's the lightest most magical sound that Carol thinks she's ever heard and happy tears flow to her eyes. His confidence appears as if it's been released from behind a locked door and suddenly his hips are bucking up into her, the tip of his dick rubbing a spot she's never known existed before. It feels like madness, like her head is light but her body is heavy, like the sun is shining so brightly her skin will burn but that rain is pouring down on her flesh. Like her flesh is melting off her bones but his touch is holding it all together and then suddenly, when her brain stops functioning altogether, when words and time and space cease to exist within a vacuum of erotic euphoria, she's wailing and flopping around in his arms like a spineless fish. He's laughing and kissing her and pumping with enough frenetic energy to spark off another inferno, the base of his cock rubbing against her clit until she's raw, pushing mindlessly to another release, and biting hard into the flesh of his shoulder. He's following her instantly, growling as she breaks through skin.

"Now, that scar's gonna be hard to explain," he teases, his voice coming out in gasps and pants.

"You never take your shirt off for anyone, anyway," she reminds him, wanting to kick herself as the words form in the air.

"Hmmm, only for you," he confirms, happy, kissing the tip of her nose and rubbing his hands down the length of her spine. "Woman, you were so damned loud we'll prob'ly have walkers stumbling out of the woods any minute now.

"Would you prefer walkers or Rick, Hershel or any of the others?"

His cheeks flame and Carol snorts at the image that tumbles through her head of being caught by any one of their group. Neither one of them could probably live through the embarrassment.

"We're gonna have to find somewhere we can't be overheard. Soon you won't be able to waddle your way up into the watchtower, so that place will be out."

"Hey!" Carol slaps at his chest, indignant. "I'll have you know that a bit of waddling never hurt anyone, especially if the payoff is half as good as that was."

"Never hurt a hippo, maybe."

Carol tackles him to the ground, a mixture of tickles, nipping bites and sloppy kisses reducing him to a jerking, frantic, huffing redneck that can't hold back any of his gasping snorts of laughter whenever she finds a particularly sensitive spot.

"Uncle," he calls out desperately, and Carol pounces, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and crushing her breasts against his chest.

"Are you running from a little teasing, Dixon?"

"Hell, no." And he's hard inside her again, twisting suddenly so she's beneath him and he's taking them on another wild ride into oblivion.

**AN… **And there you have it. Finally. Phew. Not many comments on the last chapter, though more from the hardcore Marolers than I expected, so don't have a clue where all the Caryl fans went! Before I start on my new Marol fic, I need to catch up on Edge and try to kick that one up a notch, plus, my mother is visiting this weekend so there won't be any writing until next week. I want to thank you everyone that stuck by this fic. As traumatic as it ended up being throughout for me, I am really pleased with it and some chapters feel like some of my best work. I look forward to touching base with you all again soon! ~~ Megan


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